


A Tale of Red Jade

by NikolCurzon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Absent Parents, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Bisexual Character, Characters of color, Drama, F/M, Family, Family Secrets, Friendship, HBP AU, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Jewish Character, Lesbian Character, Love, Mental Health Issues, Moral Ambiguity, Multi, Mutual Pining, Nothing too explicit, POV Character of Color, POV Multiple, PoC Harry, Pureblood Politics, References to Depression, Teen Romance, Trans Male Character, Underage Drinking, not all pairings are endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7707832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikolCurzon/pseuds/NikolCurzon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the Hogwarts Express, it's not Tonks who finds Harry. It's Zarina Shafiq—a Slytherin in the middle of a personal tragedy. When the Golden Boy of Gryffindor and the black sheep of Slytherin collide, what follows is a year full of friendship, love, heart-ache, and the grim reality of wartime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Missing

**Author's Note:**

> A story of impossible love that becomes ... possible, against the backdrop of the Second Wizarding War. Truths are revealed; the past inevitably intertwines with the present; and friendships are forged that last a lifetime. The reality of war brings out the best — and worst — in all of us.

This week's edition of the Daily Prophet lay spread on her desk.

So did last week's. And last month's.

Beneath a pile of newspaper clippings and worn, torn, and abused magazines, one roll peeked through: the oldest dated issue. July 18th. Thursday.

The day her father left for his business trip.

The day he disappeared.

And never came back.

Her mother, an Auror, had scoured London, and soon, the rest of England with her small delegation of friends (her superiors refused her a team) for him. But to no avail. There was no report on his disappearance. Anywhere. No articles, no alerts — not even a small blurb in the advertisement section.

She'd made sure. She'd checked every publication this side of the North Sea. In a fit of despair, Zarina had grabbed a variety of Muggle magazines off the new stand by King's Cross Station. She was only a few thousand cupcake recipes and doping scandals wiser.

For the entirety of August, Saida Shafiq flitted in and out of the house, making herself as scarce as possible. Zarina didn't begrudge her for it; the climate outside their apartment complex — composed of entirely wizards — was saturated with danger, and the need for Aurors had increased tenfold. More and more reinforcements were brought in from previously dormant units, stagnant from the peacetime that succeeded the war, and Saida's had been taken out for daily patrols. On top of that, Saida's investigation into Omar Shafiq's disappearance was still ongoing. She really had her plate full, and Zarina could not begrudge her less-than-motherly behaviour these past months.

What she couldn't deny, was the restlessness it had fostered. Errant energy which Zarina had poured into aiding her mother's investigation, and reading through every newspaper with a magnifying glass for clues. It consumed her summer: she hadn't touched a single one of her books, and had rarely, if at all, answered her friends' Owls. She felt like a hermit, and a useless one at that, as a month and a half of scavenging had yielded zero results.

She groaned. It was nearing the end of August, it would be September in two weeks, and nor she nor her mother had given Diagon Alley a single thought. She needed to get her NEWT booklist sorted, her supplies, money, clothing …

With mounting frustration, she pulled at her hair, which was a knotted mess. One glance at her cluttered desk, and another sound of abject misery escaped her throat.

A clipping, still moving and looking very much alive (photographs in newspapers lost their magic and froze after a month), of a certain, harassed-looking Harry Potter looked back at her. At his side stood the Headmaster, the coolness of his blue eyes perfectly rendered through the monochrome photography. They looked like two sides of the same coin: one looked aggravated and the other collected, but had identical lines of tension around their mouths.

He looked sad in the picture. Sadder than he looked last year. Zarina recognised it, because she recognised it in herself, in the mirror. It made her feel less lonely, as ridiculous as that was, when her friends' letters came in and regaled her of holiday tales of faraway beaches, far from Britain's drama: saccharine blue skies, cocktails and sun-kissed, Muggle boys.

Most of her post was left unanswered, and abandoned in her drawer, gathering dust. They didn't know. They didn't understand.

Malfoy was in there, too. The Daily Prophet had an exclusive, with Lucius Malfoy's mugshot smattered across the front page, and a sizeable candid of mother and son accompanying it. They looked calm and haughty as ever; as if they were only at another society ball, not Lucius' hearing.

Zarina had stared at it for a while when it first arrived. It had been a day since her father left. She remembered feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Of course, horror for Malfoy Sr.'s misdeeds preceded it — _deatheaterdeatheaterdeatheater_ — but something else unsettled her. But she didn't dwell on it — didn't want to — and tossed the issue to her mother, who had hummed in agreement upon reading the headline.

"Malfoy's son is your classmate, yes?" she'd asked Zarina.

"Yep."

"You know him well?"

"Not really."

"Good. You don't want to be associated with him. Best steer clear, just in case."

Zarina had nodded. Saida had nodded back, absently, and flipped through the next page. "God, not Potter again …"

As usual to her routine, Saida was out. Zarina, for a fact, knew that her Auror duties had finished hours ago. She was probably searching for her father right now.

Zarina looked at the frame on the side of her desk. Her eyes softened as she watched the man in the picture hoist a black-haired infant in the air and catch her effortlessly, eliciting a round of giggles. A weight nestled in her throat as he turned to look at her, smiling.

The morning rays stubbornly beat against her small window. One quick glance at the hanging clock told her it was nearing 9 AM — the time she usually woke up.

The sun shone in her eyes aggressively. "All right, all right," she grunted.

Her movements were sluggish — staying awake for two nights in a row had that effect —and Zarina nearly gave herself a broken neck trying to fit her head through the collar of her shirt. Her threadbare Oasis tee was a size smaller, but also the only clean top she had on hand. She stepped into a pair of khaki shorts.

She rearranged the zig-zag mountains of papers on her desk into even piles and tucked in her bedsheets and duvet, before walking down the hallway to the combined living/dining room and kitchen. Their flat was spacious, but efficiently built. Not that the rest of Slytherin saw it that way: most of them lived in mansions or at least two-storey houses, and believed Zarina was doomed to a life of squalor. Another point of contention were house elves. She didn't have any, and nearly all of the other Slytherins did. In fact, when Draco had whined about losing his house elf a few years ago, Zarina proudly stated that her family didn't need anyone else's help in housework. Draco had given a nasty laugh, and demanded pictures to prove that she didn't live in a rat's hole. Her mother refused to send her a photograph — _Why do you want to show people what our home looks like? Do you want us to get robbed?_ — and Draco had jeered at her whenever she walked into the Common Room for two weeks.

She scowled at the thought of the little shit — who was, admittedly, not _that_ little anymore, as she'd seen in the newspaper — everyone was sprouting up these days, leaving her in the lurch — and cracked the egg harder against the pan. Some egg white dripped onto the stove.

"Shit!" The Muggle stove stained quickly. Before she could wipe it away, the egg white had sizzled. She swore again.

With a kitchen towel, she started to rub the spot furiously. "Why does this always happen to me," she asked herself, "and not to anyone else?" She imagined Draco doing this, dirtying his manicured hands with kitchen grease, and snorted. Armageddon might come sooner than Draco Malfoy's voyage into a Muggle kitchen.

She looked at the bulging, yellow-y mess in her pan with narrowed eyes. Hadn't she flipped it several times? Her omelette, if you could even call it that, looked like the back of someone's shoe. Not edible. At all.

If only she was seventeen already … She knew a spell or two, to turn one ugly omelette into a Michelin-starred dish.

She sighed. It seemed she had to resort to cornflakes, bland as they were. Hadn't her mother bought a Special K box yesterday … ? She said she had. Zarina hadn't bothered to check.

A mistake, as the cupboard was depressingly empty, when she went to look.

She heard the sound of furious flapping of wings before she turned to look at a tiny owl flying through the open window in the kitchen. It was Daphne's owl, Nitwit. In its talons, he carried a pink envelope. Bemused, she closed the cupboard door and grabbed the letter from his paw, causing Nitwit to hoot at her. She waved the ticked off owl away, and tore the Greengrass seal off.

She held the melted wax plack, which bore the Greengrass family's coat of arms, in-between her fingers. And huffed.

"How pretentious."

The letter requested her presence at the _Sweeping Cafe_ , an up-scale restaurant that was, despite its name, _not_ a cafe. Daphne wanted to meet that _exact day, in exactly two hours, at exactly this table north of the counter and west of the entrance_. Zarina smiled, and rolled her eyes at the same time.

In all honesty, Zarina was surprised at the invitation. While Tracey and Millicent wrote her diligently — to her chagrin — the Greengrass heiress was silent all summer. She hadn't expected to pop up on her friend's radar so soon.

"Hmm," Zarina mused, "I wonder what that's all about."

Why not? She had exhausted all her current activities, and deserved a break too. Knowing Daphne, she would pay for the meal just because she _could_ , and Zarina knew when to be economical.

She grabbed a pen from the stand on the dining table.

 _Dear Daphne_ , she wrote on the back of the letter, _I'll be there._

* * *

  The Sweeping Cafe was lively, even when it only had a quarter of the Leaking Cauldron's customers. Zarina blamed the decorations. Ribbons of organza curled around the stately pillars by the entrance, tables were decked with pale flowers, and waitresses, looking like living, Victorian dolls, scurried around, attending to the customers with fixed smiles.

It was all so sickeningly sweet. And so … _Daphne_.

Speak of the devil and he — she — _they?_ — shall appear. A brunette and a strawberry blonde, as different as night and day, sat at a table. North of the counter and west of the entrance. The taller of the duo beckoned Zarina closer.

She smiled nervously, patted her robes down, and made her way towards them.

Daphne wore fuchsia-coloured robes, while Astoria had donned a red ensemble. They looked perfectly coiffed, and Zarina wondered how long they had taken to get ready. She'd only run a brush through her hair.

Astoria's smile was earnest as she hugged Zarina. Daphne was next, and hers was a bit more reserved. But Zarina didn't mind — in fact, she felt an explicable warmth at both hugs.

_Looks like the months without outside contact has taken its toll …_

After the greeting, the trio sat down gingerly. Three cups of tea smoked on the table, and gave off a waft of a delectable fragrance which Zarina couldn't identify.

She must have noticed her sniffing, as Daphne answered her silent question: "It's rooibos tea, with some cinnamon sprinkled in. I took the liberty of ordering for you — hope you don't mind."

Zarina smirked. "I hope you don't mind if I don't touch this."

"I didn't poison it," Daphne said in consternation.

"Tea is poison to me, either way."

"Oh yes, I've forgotten. What is that savage beverage you love to slurp instead?"

"It's not savage. It's a _drink_. It's _coffee_."

"Ugh. Burned water, more like," Astoria butted in, "Deirdre made me try a macchiato once. Foul." She scowled. "She's got one of those Muggle coffee machines. From Italy. Interesting equipment, but an utter waste of time. You might as well gourmet tap water and pour it down your throat."

At this, Zarina laughed. "Merlin, Astoria, how I've missed your wit," she said fondly.

The girl in question perked up. "I aim to please."

Daphne clicked her tongue impatiently. "Yes, yes, we've missed each other terribly, it's been horrendous, ta-ta." Astoria's face turned sour, and she crossed her arms, huffing. "Zarina, what would you like? It's better if we get some substance in our bodies before we get down to business."

"Down to business?" Zarina raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. Business. Gossip. Philosophical discussion — whatever you wish to call it. Well?"

"Just a mushroom croissant will do fine."

"A mushroom croissant? Who are you? Lovegood? By Salazar, _eat_ something! You're looking reedy."

Zarina hugged her middle protectively. "Are you pulling my leg?" she asked in disbelief. "I'm a bit chubby, you know."

"Curvy," Astoria amended. "Attractively so."

"Fine. Reedier than usual," Daphne waved off. "I'll buy one of those family-sized platters. Could you keep your grubby hands to yourself, Astoria, and leave some for us? Hmm?"

"Bitch," Astoria hissed.

What was the point of asking her what she wanted? Zarina sighed internally as Daphne mouthed off their order to the waitress. Oh well. At least she was paying.

Ten minutes dragged past, filled with small-talk, snide remarks (mostly volleying between Daphne and Astoria, but Zarina was content to watch) and comments on the passerby's they glimpsed in the shop front window. Zarina was particularly interested in one patron, dressed in green Quidditch robes.

"Hey," she said, tapping Daphne on the shoulder, "isn't that Darcos Twaine? The Chaser for Dolly Dover?"

Daphne stretched backwards, squinting her eyes. "I … think so? Actually — yes! That's him!"

The Quidditch player, famous for his excellent sportsmanship — he once rallied for a rematch when his team won against the Chudley Cannons, on grounds of a 'faulty Snitch' — looked dapper in his competitive clothing, and was making his way to the Flourish & Blotts across the street.

"Wonder what he's doing here, wearing that," Daphne mused. "Looks like he left in the middle of a match or something."

Zarina frowned thoughtfully. "Isn't his niece at Hogwarts? A Ravenclaw, I think. Astoria?"

"Doesn't ring a bell," she said lightly. "I know no Twaines."

"Hmm. Cassius said so. He knows him."

"Warrington says a lot of things," Daphne said vaguely.

Zarina was about to ask what she meant by that, when their waitress popped out of nowhere and set down a plate filled to the brim with pastries and bites.

Zarina eyed the platter. Various delicacies and savoury tarts were presented, and she hesitantly grabbed a neon pink baklava. She bit off a piece, and her eyebrows jumped in surprise. She hadn't expected the monstrously coloured baklava to taste so … well … not monstrous. "Hmm."

"Not bad?" Astoria asked, before digging into her finger sandwich.

"Tastes like regular baklava."

Daphne gave her a strange look. "What were you expecting then? Slime?" Zarina shrugged. "All right. Now, we can get started.

"Some very interesting developments happened this summer, as you must know," Daphne continued. "The Malfoys …"

Zarina nodded in understanding.

Daphne bit her lip, and it was the most unsure Zarina had ever seen her. "What do you think will happen this year? With him — Draco?"

She fidgeted in her chair. "What do you think?"

Daphne eyed her skeptically, but answered nevertheless, "I asked you first, but okay. I think there'll definitely be a division."

"Division?" Zarina and Astoria echoed.

"Well, now that Daddy Malfoy is a Death Eater, where does that leave him? He follows the teachings. And he'll have others in our House who will agree with him."

"But we've always known of his Death Eaterish tendencies," Zarina argued. "Remember second year? All that mudblood stuff? And back in fourth year, after that drama at the World Cup, he boasted a lot too."

"Yeah, but back then there was no You-Know-Who!" Daphne hissed. "He's back, Shafiq, he's back. For real. Potter wasn't lying. They've rounded up at least half our Housemates' family members. Do you know what that means?"

A pulsing silence followed her outburst. Zarina gaped at her. She was at a loss of what to say. Next to her, Astoria looked pale, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Daphne breathed out deeply. "Half of our House will be pro—pro— _him_ ," she whispered, "no one will trust us. I mean, they barely did before — but now, it will be much, much worse. My family wants to stay neutral and …"

"Have you been approached?" Zarina interrupted.

Astoria grimaced. "Yes. Father politely declined, and they've stayed away, but he's stationed an Auror at our home just in case."

"My mother?" She had been secretive about her Auror missions, lately. If it _was_ her, Zarina wouldn't be surprised she hadn't been told. Guarding some uptight pureblood's mansion didn't sound like the excellent mission one should be wasting their time in.

"No. Robards. I suspect that everyone in Ravenclaw will be neutral, by the way. I mean, my friends have barely mentioned Potter in their letters. Shocking, I know," she huffed. Zarina and Daphne looked amused. They were used to Astoria's whinging over her friends, who never shut up about the Boy-Who-Lived. "Do you really think Slytherin will split up this year?"

"It's likely." But Daphne's constipated expression suggested she probably thought the likelihood was closer to 'definitely happening'. "I assume you will be … eh … pro-Ministry, Zarina?"

She shrugged. "Mum's an Auror," she reminded her, "I was pro-Ministry last year, too."

"What about Warrington?" Astoria asked. "I don't think his family has been contacted, but Astor Warrington looked particularly joyful at the Summer Solstice."

"That's cause he's finally rid of Malfoy Senior," Daphne said dryly. "They've been at each other's tails for years now. With him locked up, Astor has full reign over the upper rungs of society. I suspect he'll make a bid for the recently vacated seat on the school council."

"Wasn't your dad going to put himself forth as a candidate, Zarina?"

Zarina nearly choked on the pain au chocolat she'd been nibbling. She met Astoria's inquisitive stare. What could she say to that?

_Yeah, he was going to. He was going to do a lot of things, before he disappeared in thin air._

"As if he would get accepted," she started, with hollow confidence. "He wasn't even invited to the Summer Solstice."

Daphne shifted nervously. "Well, if my dad was in charge, he certainly would have. I guess — you know how the Parkinsons can be …"

She huffed. After having Pansy as a dorm mate for five years, she knew very well. "Anyways," Zarina continued, "half-bloods don't get selected. Let alone half-bloods without a fortune." _Also, he'll need to actually be here to get selected. Did I mention that my father is BLOODY MISSING?_

There goes her appetite. She sighed, and put down her pastry. She wanted to tell them about what had happened so badly, but found herself unable to push it through her lips. She had an opening just now, but completely sidestepped it.

She looked up at her friends, both of whom wore expressions of genuine sympathy. It made her slightly nauseous.

Astoria patted her hand in a comforting manner. "We don't care that you don't have a fortune," she said.

Daphne nodded. "Not at all. Nor about your blood status. But you know, it won't matter at all soon, anyway …"

Zarina narrowed her eyes. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Well, er, you're with Warrington, aren't you?"

"Oh." The mention of her boyfriend — her handsome, rich, pureblood boyfriend — made her feel strangely guilty. "It's not like … It's … _unlikely_ that I'm going to marry him."

"You won't be judged," Daphne assured her, "neither will Warrington. Even Malfoy won't say squat — the Malfoys marry half-bloods all the time! He'll probably propose at the graduation."

"Can you please stop?" Zarina burst out. "Merlin, we haven't been together for a _year_! I don't want to get married now."

"Fine, fine. He won't be waiting forever, mind you."

"Hush, Daphne," she grumbled.

"Hey, I agree with you. I don't mind if you postpone it a little. Or a lot. I've never really liked him."

A fierce red blush stained her cheeks. "Y-y-you've never liked anyone I dated," she stuttered. "You nearly got Malfoy to take me instead of Urquhart back at the Yule Ball!"

She shuddered. Couldn't Daphne have found any other Slytherin? _It's so wrong ..._

Daphne crossed her arms. "And I would have succeeded," she said slowly, "had Puggy Pansy not sunk her talons in him. You were quite adorable back then, Zarina — he definitely took a fancy to you. He was going to say yes, before the harpy jumped him."

Zarina looked as if she'd been slapped. "Oi! Am I not adorable anymore?"

Astoria snickered. "Adorable isn't _quite_ the right word, now, is it?"

She looked up at the Ravenclaw girl who, despite being three years younger, already had a couple of inches on her. "Aren't you like fourteen?" she asked, scandalised.

Daphne let out an incredulous hoot. "With her behaviour? Unlikely! You know Edwin Edgeley? Well, so does Astoria …"

"Keep your big mouth shut!" Astoria screeched.

Zarina blinked in surprise. "You're seeing Edgeley?" She recalled a short, slim blonde with athletic limbs and a handsome face, standing by the Ravenclaw team during Quidditch matches. "The Reserve Seeker?"

Astoria blushed prettily. "I am," she said confidently. Her self-assured smile turned dopey. "He's really nice, and not as obsessed with Quidditch as the other players are. He takes me flying sometimes."

"A feat no other has accomplished," Daphne grumbled, which earned her a sharp elbow in the gut. "Ouch!"

"As I was saying," Astoria continued, unfazed, "we go flying. He's come over at least five times this summer, and father really likes him." She then turned to her sister with a scowl. "You can't talk, Daphne! I've seen Zabini lurking around far too often. Does he like creme brûlée _that_ much?"

"Comes for me, stays for the creme brûlée," Daphne muttered.

Zarina gaped at her. "Are — are you serious?" _Zabini?_ How did Daphne even fit in the same room as Zabini and his massive ego?

"It's nothing serious," she argued, "we just tried it out … a few times. Didn't work, of course. We're too incompatible."

"I'll keep an eye on the both of you. Just in case."

She rolled her eyes. "Come off it, Zarina."

"I mean it. If there's one person I don't trust in Slytherin, it's him."

"You just say that 'cause of his mother."

"Do you blame me? The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree."

"Ugh. You and your Muggle idioms."

"They're useful in pretty much any situation. Say, have you heard of a chap called Shakespeare by any chance?"

"I have," Astoria interjected cheerily, "we had a lesson on him in Muggle Studies, once. His poetry is wicked. Literally." She winked.

Zarina shuddered. "Gah."

For the rest of the afternoon, the three engaged in conversations about their classmates, with Zarina and Daphne sharing anecdotes about their fellow Slytherins, while Astoria squeezed in several hilarious stories about her dorm-mates.

Zarina nearly spewed out her apple juice — Daphne ordered a jug when Zarina had point-blank refused to taste the lukewarm rooibos tea — when Astoria recounted the time she'd charmed Doris Baedecker's trousers to never stay upright, even with a belt, leading to the poor girl having to hold it up herself for an entire day.

"You're a riot, Astoria," Zarina hiccuped, wiping away the tears of laughter that had escaped.

Even Daphne couldn't hide her smile. "I bet the Hat regrets not placing you in Slytherin, sis."

Zarina watched fondly as the two sisters proceeded to grapple once more, heatedly discussing Ravenclaw's relevance compared to 'regal' Slytherin. The hopelessness that she'd felt just hours ago had been relieved slightly, in the presence of two of her dearest friends.


	2. Unfortunate Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zarina boards the train, and has some nice meetings—and some not so nice ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you start this chapter, I just want to warn you all that while there will be NO character bashing of any kind, but not everyone likes everyone, and so bitchy comments and fights are bound to happen. As these chapters are written from a biased perspective, with only occasional exceptions, the voice might be biased towards one character and against another. But humans are complex creatures, aren't they?

August had ended on a high note. Ever since their get-together, Nitwit made an appearance every other morning with a new pink letter for her to peruse. This time, Zarina replied to them all. She suspected that Daphne had noticed how down she was at the not-really-cafe, and wanted to make up for leaving her in the lurch all summer. Zarina was fine with this turn in events; her spirits had been raised, and she finally got around to answering Tracey and Millicent's letters too. Only one stack of letters, from one sender, remained unanswered.

Two weeks on, and the first of September was the first time in a while that Zarina was in her mother's company (she'd gone shopping for school after her tea with the Greengrass sisters). Saida Shafiq looked worse for wear: her usual glossy locks had dulled to a greyish black, and the spaces underneath her eyes looked like craters. That morning, she'd put on her robes quite haphazardly, and Zarina cringed as she spied the bright green dragon-hide boots underneath her mother's empire-waisted black robes.

Zarina adjusted the handle of the trunk in her hand, and spared a look of concern at the small woman next to her. "Mum, are you — er — okay?"

Saida sighed. "I'm fine, love. You should be worried about yourself, not me."

"You'll find him."

"I'll be sure to let you know when I do. Although, with the way you've been consuming those newspapers, you'll probably know before me."

A blush crept up her neck. "How did you know?" she asked quietly.

There was a pause as Zarina frowned at the ground. Her mother didn't sound sarcastic in the least, but she still felt chastised for even thinking that she could do Saida's job better than her.

A warm hand cradled her shoulder. Zarina looked up to find her mother smile at her — her first smile in weeks. "You've been holed up in your room whenever I came home. Also, it's pretty noticeable when at least five different owls grace your home everyday." She chuckled and slowly, Zarina joined in.

"Don't give up," she said, at last, squeezing her shoulder. "This year will be the hardest yet, but I know you, and I _know_ that you will make it through with your head held high. Keep looking for him, even in the tightest of corners."

Zarina nodded. She willed the tears back, which threatened to mist her eyes.

Suddenly, Saida's face turned grave. She inched closer to Zarina. "But don't bring too much attention to yourself," Saida warned her. "You can't trust those Housemates of you anymore. Don't stay around them longer than you need to. Charm your bed. And please, Zarina, _please_ make some friends outside your House. How about Amelia's niece? Susan? I'll put a good word in for you …"

"I'll do it," Zarina said, hurriedly. "Mum, the train's about to depart. I've got to go."

"Oh yes, yes. Have you got all your stuff?"

She held up her trunk silently.

Saida waved her off. "All right then — well, get on! Before all the compartments are too full and you'll have to sit on the aisle. Not a good way to start the year, let me tell you!"

Zarina chuckled. "I'm sure you know best. Bye, mum."

She stepped on the train. The sight of her mother, still waving, a petite witch in a sea of tall, long-legged wizards, made her smile fondly. As the train started moving, and her surroundings started to blur, Zarina kept her eyes on Saida who started to get smaller and smaller until she was out of sight completely, and the train had left the station.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express bustled with activity. Many like her had just jumped onto the train as it was leaving, and clamoured to get a good seat in its compartments. Zarina wasn't as concerned: the Slytherins had already sectioned off a part of the train only for them, and she trusted Daphne to save her a seat.

She dragged her trunk behind her as she marched down the corridor. It didn't weigh much, as her mother had placed a Featherlight Charm on it, but it was still a pain to carry.

Out of nowhere, blue sparks shot off, narrowly missing her face. She ducked. "Bloody hell!"

From around the corner, a red-head appeared, trailblazing and scowling. Her wand was vibrating and she looked like she was out for blood, until her dark eyes caught sight of a harassed-looking Zarina, who stood frozen in the aisle.

The girl frowned at her. "Can you move? I'm in the middle of something."

She blinked. "Excuse me? Your spell nearly burned my face off."

"Why did you get in the way then? Move it, Slytherin, before I really make you my next target."

Zarina couldn't believe the gall of the girl in front of her. "Why don't you actually try to aim right? Whoever your target was, they're long gone." She crossed her arms. " _You_ should move it, Weasley. You're the one in Slytherin territory."

"Let me show you what I think of your 'Slytherin territory' …" Zarina straightened up slightly as the puny Gryffindor aimed at her.

"Jenny!" _Jenny_? Did she hear that right? "What are you doing!" a squeaky voice piped up. Zarina looked off to the side and discovered a gangly, blonde girl, trying to push down Jenny's arm. "You can't just … hex … a Slytherin like that! They'll hit ten times harder!"

The freckled girl huffed, but lowered her wand. "I'm not scared of Death Eater scum."

Zarina gaped at her. "That's not true," she insisted. "No — we — we're not _Death Eaters_." Was this the general consensus amongst other Houses? That Slytherin was a breeding ground for terrorists?

_Not me. I swear._

Both of them looked at her in incredulity, as if they couldn't believe a Slytherin would bother to defend themselves. "Right," Jenny drawled. "Not _yet_." And with a last, warning look, she turned around and marched down the corridor, with her blonde friend at her heels.

Zarina watched them leave with a mixture of anger and disbelief. She hadn't doubted Daphne, that girl usually knew what she was talking about, and Slytherin _did_ have its share of bigots — or maybe, yes, almost all of the bigots — but she hadn't expected to actually see her words come true so soon.

Sighing, Zarina continued on through the corridor, peeking into compartments for any sign of her friends. Secretly, she hoped that she would bump into none of her other Housemates. She wasn't looking forward to those particular conversations, as she had a mild suspicion how they would go.

As a half-blood with only tenuous ties to some pureblood families, Zarina wasn't very popular in her House. Add to that her mother who, while being a respectable Auror, was just a Muggle-born, and her friends circle ended up pathetically sparse. She wasn't outright excluded, as Slytherins always stayed together no matter what, but there was an invisible line no classical purebloods dared to cross with her.

Well, except for Daphne, Tracey and Cassius. And _Malfoy_ , surprisingly, that one time in fourth year, but she suspected that was only 'cause she was one of the first to sprout some _tatas_ in their year. Adorable _,_ Daphne had called it.

At last, Zarina had caught sight of signature curly brown hair and an upturned nose. Daphne. _Finally._

"Daphne, guess who I've pissed o— _oh_." She froze in the doorway, and blinked at the pair who sat opposite Daphne and … Tracey? Glancing around the statuesque brunette, Zarina spied springs of honey-blonde hair and an ever-inquisitive face, who looked suspiciously at the unusual guests in their compartment. Zarina shared her concerns, as her eyes similarly flitted over the two.

Daphne cleared her throat. "Hello, Zarina," she called, her voice hollow. "Why don't you join us?"

Zarina nodded dumbly and went to heave her luggage on the rack. But before she could lift it, Draco Malfoy had stood up and taken her trunk from her.

"You don't need to," she said immediately, which her Housemate ignored, and instead effortlessly placed her trunk on the rack without even raising his arms. She didn't complain further. She doubted she would have been able to reach the rack, even if she'd jumped.

Draco nodded at her and Zarina, so surprised by this unexpected kindness, forgot to thank him as he sat back down. She followed his example, and seated herself between Daphne and Tracey.

She pulled a smile on her face, trying to dispel her discomfort. Moments like these made her wish that she could telepathically talk to people, or was a Legilimens at least, if only to find out from either of her friends how this seating arrangement came to be.

But as it was, the Slytherins continued to ignore the giant elephant in the room.

"So …" Tracey started. She turned to Zarina, who cringed as their elbows clanked together, which brought attention to the fact that three people occupied a bench meant for two people. "How was your summer? I barely heard from you until two weeks ago!"

"Same old, same old," she answered, airily. "We had a merry time, visiting family and such. You know how Madra— _Chennai_ is in the summer."

Tracey's expectant smile told her that no, she didn't know. "Very busy, lots to do. No time to write," Zarina explained.

"Ah. Well. Trinidad was much of the same!"

"I can imagine," she said dryly. Tracey's Owls were an immersive experience. The girl was an artist with her words — Zarina could almost taste the vibrancy of Maracas Bay in Tracey's loopy letters. She looked at Tracey's coily hair with awe. "Your hair looks beautiful."

"Thanks," she gushed, "they're bantu knot outs. My auntie did them for me."

Daphne added, "They really suit you."

From the opposite bench, someone huffed loudly. Zarina looked over to find Pansy glare at them with a face like a sour lemon.

Daphne cut her eyes at her. "Something to say?" she asked, her voice dangerously calm.

Pansy clucked her tongue. "You both are sickening. Davis, you look like an ugly puffskein. It's as if something exploded in your face."

"At least her hairdresser didn't give her botched-up haircut," Daphne shot back. "I see that _you_ weren't as lucky."

Zarina glanced at Tracey, who was self-consciously carding her fingers through her hair. "It's not true," she assured her. "Parkinson has no idea what she's talking about. You're the prettiest puffskein there is." They grinned at each other.

Zarina noticed that Draco had started breathing heavier, as Pansy and Daphne continued to trade insults. His fist curled over the worn leather of his seat.

"Bimbo," Pansy spat.

"Rabid dog." Daphne wasn't pulling any punches.

Zarina pulled at her friend's arm. "Calm down," she hissed, but Daphne shrugged her off.

"Yes, Greengrass, listen to her — stop PMS'ing." Pansy smirked nastily. "Alas, it's too late now. I see you've only gotten spottier."

Daphne's face turned red, but before she could retort, the single boy in the compartment stood up abruptly.

All four girls watched him. Zarina couldn't breathe ( _deatheaterdeatheaterdeatheater_ ). His eyes rested briefly on them all, before zoning in on Pansy.

"Let's go," was all he said.

Pansy stood up like a gazelle with a broken leg, looking painfully subservient, and together they left the compartment without sparing the remaining occupants a single glance.

When the door slid shut, Zarina immediately spoke up, "Why were they here?"

Daphne, whose face by now had lost its reddish gleam, answered: "Parkinson dragged him in. They were discussing something, and I think they expected this compartment to be empty, but ended up staying."

Oh. That made sense. "What do you think the deal is there? What were they talking about?"

"And did you see how submissive Parkinson was," Tracey added, looking shocked, "that girl has never 'put up and shut up' so fast before!"

Zarina frowned. It _was_ surprising that she hadn't tried to screech Draco's ear off first, for daring to suggest they leave. Not when she looked like she was having the most fun in a long time, ragging on Daphne. "I think she might be scared of him."

Daphne looked thoughtful. "It's possible," she agreed. "Although, Malfoy was far too quiet."

"I suppose we're not amazing company," Zarina chuckled.

"That's not a requirement, is it? He mouthes off to anyone who's got ears, whether he likes them or not."

"And did you see how he helped me with my trunk? How uncharacteristic of him. To lift a finger for anyone else."

"How do you know that?" Tracey argued. "It's not like we're all friends with him. I mean, Parkinson must hang around for a reason. Maybe he's secretly a gentleman." Her eyes clouded over, probably with daydreams over Malfoy picking _her_ up instead of Zarina's trunk.

Zarina huffed. "I can see where you're coming from, Tracey, but I doubt it. His dad's in _Azkaban_. Whatever 'gentleman' he had is probably dead now."

"Was your mum at the hearing?" Tracey asked.

Zarina stood up and flopped onto the opposite bench. It was easier talking to them that way. "Yes," she said conspiratorially, "she was. Don't be fooled by the newspapers — Mrs. Malfoy was bawling. Mum said she probably did it to win sympathy from the judge. Didn't work, of course; the Ministry's grown heartless."

"For damage control," Daphne remarked.

"For damage control," Zarina affirmed. "Now that they've been proven wrong after all that slander, the crackdown started immediately: every Auror unit in stock has been pulled out for duty, no reduced sentences, and the highest offences gets the Kiss. The prosecutor almost won the Kiss for Malfoy Senior too. I bet they didn't tell you that." She smiled smugly. "But Malfoy's defence attorney was good, mind you. He got him off with fifty-two years in Azkaban."

"Fifty-two years," Tracey repeated, shocked, "he won't survive that."

Zarina shrugged. "Guess he won't. But I'm glad he's in. Mum and her team have been chasing after these criminals for months now, but they've only apprehended Thorfinn Rowle, who's gone off to the gallows."

"Rowle." Daphne's eyes were as wide as saucers. "That's Victoria Gainsby's uncle."

The three girls looked at each other in horror.

"Are you sure?" Zarina asked, her voice shaking.

Daphne nodded slowly.

Victoria and Cassius were co-Prefects, and best friends. If Cassius found out that it was _her_ mother who arrested his friend's uncle … "He won't hold it against me, will he?"

"He knows your mum's an Auror," Tracey reassured her. "It shouldn't come as a surprise."

"Forget Warrington!" Daphne yelped. "Have you two forgotten that Gainsby is the most popular girl in Slytherin? She'll make your life a hell!"

"Shut up, Daphne! You'll be fine, Zarina, honest. She might not even know it was your mother." Tracey smiled encouragingly at her, but Zarina's mind went into panic-mode.

She grappled her hands. "Gainsby might get Sharma to curse me when I'm asleep," she theorised.

"We'll say the counter-curse," Tracey said quickly.

"What if you don't know the counter-curse?"

"Then we'll curse Sharma until she performs it herself."

"What if it's some Dark hex that melts my face off before you can get to her, huh? What then? If Gainsby's uncle is Rowle, I'll bet all my Galleons that he's taught her a few tricks. You don't need an Unforgivable to ruin someone _forever_."

And then, she felt a pinch in her side. "Ow! The fuck?"

Tracey scowled at her. "You're such a drama queen," she deadpanned.

Daphne was smiling in amusement. "Aw, why'd you make her stop? It was entertaining."

Zarina glared at Daphne, before she sighed. "I guess I'm just worked up," she murmured, "I had a run-in with a Weasley before I got here."

"A Weasley? There's only two left, now. How did you know it was a Weasley?"

"I _know_ , Daphne. Only Weasleys have hair _that_ ginger. It was the girl. Jenny."

"Ginny," Daphne corrected.

"Yeah. Her. She was shooting hexes all over the place, and one of them nearly hit me! Then, she _threatened_ me when I called her out. Doesn't even have the decency to apologise."

Tracey shook her head in disapproval, "Those savage Gryffindors. They come out, wands ablaze, if you look at them wrong."

"She called us Death Eaters," she continued, looking at Daphne. "Death Eater _scum_ , to be exact."

Daphne pursed her lips. Her eyes cut at Tracey, then back at her, and she lightly shook her head.

Tracey, missing the silent exchange between Zarina and Daphne, straightened her shoulders. "Who cares what that slag thinks? Those Weasleys are pretty self-righteous, if you ask me. That's what happens when you're always favoured by the Headmaster."

"What do you mean?" Daphne asked.

"Oh, come on. Who'd've chosen that _dolt_ Ronald as Gryffindor Prefect? I know you don't like him, but Malfoy was spot on about that one."

"And almost all Weasleys have been Prefects, Head Boys, and captains at one point," Zarina added. "Charlie Weasley? He's been _all_." She shrugged, as if to say _she's got a point_.

Daphne looked sceptical, but didn't argue.

* * *

The train rode on, past ever-green hills and dense forests one could get lost in for months. For approximately two hours, the friends chatted about everything and nothing, and no boyfriends or Weasleys or suspicious Housemates popped up in the conversation again. As the train had completed three-quarters of its journey and a dark purple veil dropped across the sky, signifying that the noon had passed into early evening, the friends fell asleep, one by one. They missed the trolley lady, who decided to let the sleeping girls lie and moved on to the next compartment, where a certain blonde Slytherin was in deep conversation with his friends, and a certain Gryffindor was listening in.

* * *

When the train rolled to a stop, Zarina woke up. She looked around in confusion, and spied the black sky out the window. "Oi! What time is it?"

"Ruddy hell …"

"Please don't tell me that was the train sto—"

A loud whistle sounded throughout the Hogwarts Express, shocking Zarina so hard she fell on the floor. "Fuck," she moaned.

Daphne jumped up. "Get changed," she ordered frantically. With her height, she easily reached the overhead compartment and pulled out all of their trunks. "Come on!"

Zarina scowled as she was being helped up by Tracey. She grabbed her trunk and made her way to the door. "I'll get changed in the loo."

Daphne waved her off. "Fine."

Tracey held her back by her shoulder as she was about to leave. "Meet us outside, by the carriages. If you can't find us, go with Warrington. Tony and him are always loitering outside the Express, anyway."

"I'll be fine, Tracey," Zarina said, and rolled her eyes. "I'll see you both soon."

Zarina dashed across the corridor to the nearest loo, and locked the door behind her securely. From outside, the washroom barely took up the corner, but the interior easily rivalled the size of her bedroom. A clever Enlargement Charm.

She set her trunk on a counter and popped it open. And whined.

That morning, Zarina had propped all her books and stationery and clothes in without a care, resulting in an explosion of her belongings within her trunk. How was she supposed to find what she needed in this mess?

First things first. Her wand.

From one of the front pockets, she grasped her mahogany wand with an unicorn core. There were runes engraved on the side that weren't magical but rather for decoration, but Zarina, who loved Ancient Runes, appreciated it all the same.

She twirled the wand in her hand, smiled, and placed it by the side.

After some intense digging, and complete upending of her luggage, Zarina had finally located her robes and grimaced. She wasn't a big fan of the heavy, constrictive Hogwarts' robes. They looked dashing, of course, with the wide shoulder pads and exquisite trimming, but as daily attire, it was a pain to move in. And took a while to put on properly.

She decided to just shrug on the cloak over her dress, and hoped that no one at the Sorting ceremony would notice.

Picking her trunk up by one hand and propping her wand into her cloak pocket, Zarina turned the lock. She pushed the door, but it didn't budge.


	3. Scrimmage on the Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Zarina finally meet, in less-than-favourable circumstances, and must rely on each other to survive. Draco might have made a huge mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it completely veers off canon! Warnings, there will be violence, injury, etc ahead. Please read with caution.

Draco smirked as he trudged up to the path leading to the horseless carriages. As he came up the hill, the loud hair of the poor ginger and the bush of the Mudblood became clearer in the distance. They stood huddled together, looking to be in deep discussion indeed, with one vital part of their trio missing.

He looked upon them with glee. He was far too clever for his own good, sometimes … But just perfect for his own _bad_.

No, wait. That sounded terrible.

He followed behind Pansy, who kept glancing at him, making her trip occasionally which prompted Blaise to hold her arm. Draco scowled at her back. He understood her worry, really, he _did_ — but it was the last thing he needed. What he needed was her support. Her and Blaise's.

The drama between Weasley and Granger had escalated as Draco and his posse neared them. They'd pulled in some of their fellow dunderheads from Gryffindor, and Draco recognised the lanky form of Dean Thomas with his Weaselette girlfriend, standing off the side.

He was about to march over to them and give one of his many clever quips, when a hand curled around his forearm, halting his movements. He looked to his right. Pansy was frowning at him. "What's wrong?"

She jerked her head to the side. Draco followed her gaze, where it landed upon another group, composed of four. Warrington, Greengrass, Davis, and Bulstrode. They looked as tense as pulled string, and kept glancing around them, as if expecting someone else to show up.

Which was ridiculous. Everyone had gotten off (everyone but Potter) and the train was gone. No one else should be missing.

But ...

Greengrass and Davis hadn't been alone on the train. The half-blood, Shafiq, had been with them. And now, she was not.

Draco shrugged Pansy off, and walked towards his fellow Slytherins. Noticing him, Warrington scowled and opened his mouth, aiming for an insult, no doubt, but Draco passed him without a single glance.

He stared down Greengrass, and cut to the chase. "Where is Shafiq?"

"She's coming," she said immediately.

He sneered. "Taking an awful lot of time, isn't she?"

"Is there something you need from her? We'll relay the message."

Greengrass' smile was cold and plastic, but Draco saw the anxiety behind her eyes as clear as day. " _Where—is—she_?" he repeated.

She looked defiant, even as her mouth surrendered. "On the train," she gritted out.

"Why?"

"She had to do something. She said she'd meet us outside, but she never did."

His heart hammered in his chest. "Maybe she got lost."

"Malfoy, not that I don't appreciate your concern, but why are you so interested? She's probably still at Hogsmeade. The train's not leaving for another thirty minutes."

"Only curious," Draco murmured before he turned around and walked away. Pansy tried to catch his gaze, but he refused to look at her. Instead, his eyes shifted towards the sky, where puffs of smoke billowed above the treetops in the distance.

* * *

She tried again, with her elbow this time. The extra force didn't make the door move, not even a bit.

"Right, let's see." Her wand might know what was up. She pointed the end of her wand at the lock, but then frowned. "What if someone hexed the door, and trying to spell it will make things worse?" she wondered out loud. She _had_ turned the lock, so what would she use the Alohomora for?

What was the detection charm again? "Detecto … magnus?" she tried. Nothing. Well. It did sound a bit _too_ pig Latin.

Stupid, shit memory.

She pointed her wand again. And breathed deeply. _I detect magic. I detect magic. I detect magic._

The tip of her wand glowed red, as did the door. She tried to sort through her head what red meant. They studied this topic in Charms last year — how to recognise complicated charms by their colour. Red was the colour of the Blocked Barrier spell. But that was only for magical locations, not the loo—

Zarina groaned loudly and stamped her foot in frustration. Technically, she _was_ in a magical location. The loo had been _magically_ expanded! A blessing and a curse, all rolled into one.

She could do this. There weren't any jinxes or hexes on the door, only the Blocking spell. So, she _could_ use magic.

She aimed her wand at the door again. " _Bombarda_!"

Sparks flew, and bounced off.

" _Bombarda maxima_!"

More sparks, but no effect.

" _Incendio_!"

A jet of fire climbed along the door, but didn't even scorch the surface, and disappeared into nothingness.

She was _not_ giving up. " _Cistem aperio_!"

" _Revelio_!"

Zarina imagined herself as a battery, and conjured all her inner will to charge up her magical power. " _Deprimo_!" she screamed.

There was a whoosh, and the force of a solid punch in the stomach slammed her to the ground. Sparks exploded behind her eyelids. Her back felt as if it had been dragged across shards of glass. She whimpered brokenly, but bit her lip through the pain.

She grasped along the floor for her wand, having dropped it during her fall. " _C-C-confuto_ ," Zarina muttered. The pain lifted, and a cold burn spread across the wide expanse of her back. She stood up, popping her joints. Confuto was a handy spell that held away pain (for a limited time), but made whatever area you'd injured as stiff and cold as an ice cube.

She considered her options. After using the most magically charged spell she could think of, the door had barely dented. _Deprimo_ could bore a hole into three walls!

Actually ...

She looked at the walls around her. The loo was near the end of the train, at the corner. So, one of the walls must have faced outside. If she blasted _that_ wall open, she could get out the train that way. The train had stopped at Hogsmeade, so walking to the castle wouldn't be too much of a problem. She'd even fix the blasted wall before she left.

" _Deprimo_!"

An onslaught of wind blew in which nearly swallowed Zarina. Zarina anchored herself to the counter, holding onto the basin. From the scorched hole in the wall, she spied the scenery, which blurred and sped away far too quickly for her to make out exactly where the train was.

One thing was clear: the train was moving.

With a quick swipe of her wand, she Conjured some plaster and patched the hole up. It looked like someone had stuck a huge chunk of gum against the wall, but Zarina's mind was preoccupied over other matters.

She had to get out of there. But how?

Zarina stared at the wall she'd plastered. And, another idea came into being.

If she couldn't break the door or the walls magically, what about manually? What could she Conjure to break a block of cement?

She waved her wand at the floor, and an object started to take form. Basic outlines filled into a full body of mass, until a black sledgehammer shimmered into existence at her feet. She cast a Featherlight charm on it, and picked it up. Zarina looked at it with wonder: it almost felt surreal to hold an object which she knew was supposed to weigh at least a kilo, yet felt like an empty box in her hands.

She snorted. Having lived as a glorified Muggle since July, the cultural shock of magic was real.

Zarina looked at the door, lifted the sledgehammer, and struck.

And fell.

Zarina stared at the floor with shock. The ugly bordeaux carpeting had never been so dear to her than in that moment. She mumbled into the carpet, "Thank Merlin."

The train was indeed moving. She felt the undulations of the wheels bounding across the tracks at full speed under her body, unrelenting and ominous. Zarina crawled to a stand, and looked behind her. The door, which had been so impenetrable and impossible from inside, now had a crevice the size of her body.

She looked down at herself. Wood splinters and sawdust stuck to her cloak like clingfilm. "Fucking door," she swore, and dusted herself off. That had been one episode she would hesitate to repeat. Hopefully, she hadn't developed claustrophobia from it.

Zarina decided to leave her trunk in the bathroom, and entered the corridor, in search of any sign of help. Surely, her friends must have noticed her disappearance? Had anyone from the staff? Had Professor Snape?

And most importantly: how in the _fuck_ would she get off this _blasted_ carriage?

Zarina shivered as she walked down the corridor. The windows were wide open, allowing the near-arctic wind to breeze through. Zarina could've sworn it was proper etiquette to close all windows while the train was moving. But then again, it was also proper etiquette to look into all lavatories and compartments to ensure that no passengers were left behind.

She opened the door to the Slytherin section as quietly as possible. Empty. As she'd expected. However, evidence that dozens of rowdy teenagers had graced the compartments remained: sweet wrappers littered the floor, the couches were sunken in, and some had _owl droppings_ on the windowsills.

Disgusting. But also, very peculiar. The train had not been cleaned yet. Usually, Hogwarts' house elves did the dirty work before the Express was off to London again.

She shook her head. There must be some explanation; she was just missing something.

As she passed a compartment, her surroundings blurred again, and Zarina found herself sprawled on the floor for the second time that day. She wriggled, and paused. No, not the floor. Something else. Something ... solid. Fleshy, she reckoned. Tentatively, she moved her legs. Something velvet — a cloak? — slid across her ankle.

She hauled herself upright, and climbed over whatever she'd tripped over. She looked at the floor. Nothing there. Crouching, Zarina waved her fingers around, until she felt that familiar velvety touch. An edge. She pulled at it until it gave away and became more tangible in her hand.

There was a shimmer of a near-translucent cloak in the air. It was ragged, black, and looked liked it had seen more Goblin Uprisings than her History of Magic textbook, but Zarina was awed. An Invisibility Cloak! A garment like this was rare and prized, and here she was, _holding_ one.

Excited, she glanced at the floor, in search of what it had concealed.

Her smile froze. For a short, agonising second, Zarina's mind flashed back to the mass Petrifications from second year, and she wondered if the Heir of Slytherin's monster was making its rounds again.

The frozen figure on the floor scowled at her. She'd seen that face too many times over the summer.

"Potter?"

His glare seemed to intensify, or maybe it was her imagination. His eyes darted from left to right. Zarina was relieved. He was aware of his surroundings, so he hadn't been Petrified to _that_ degree.

Waving her wand, she spoke, " _Rennervate_."

When he awoke from his frozen state, his expression of anger shifted into that of shock. His limbs had started to move, and he looked like he was about to tell her something, but suddenly spluttered. Blood streamed down his nostrils.

She felt like slapping herself. How had she not noticed that he was bleeding?

She held out a finger. "One second," she told him. Zarina drew rectangular shapes in the air, and a stack of tissues dropped into her lap out of nothingness. She grabbed them, and waved the wad at him. "Need this?"

Harry gave her a suspicious glance, but accepted her offering. "Damn," he swore lightly, as his blood dripped onto his worn, white shirt. "My best one." He stuffed his nose quickly.

Zarina wordlessly waved her wand, Vanishing the blood spatters.

"Er — thanks."

She shrugged, and extended her hand. After a brief hesitation, Harry grasped it, his fingers somewhat slippery with blood, and stumbled to a stand. Zarina grimaced and was about to wipe her sticky fingers on her robe, only to immediately place a hand on Harry's back to help him rebalance. As his chin brushed the top of her head, she realised that he dwarfed her. By several inches in fact. A stray thought crept in her mind as to how bizarre this might have looked: a 5'2 girl supporting someone who looked to be around the 5'11 mark, at least.

"The train's moving," he remarked, as he finally came to a standstill.

Zarina watched him carefully. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, but the purple bruising on the bridge of his nose concerned her. "Right," she said slowly, fingering her wand, "on its way to London as we speak."

He laughed humourlessly. "Guess Malfoy got his wish."

"Malfoy?" Had he locked here in there, too? But why? What was his motivation? _Daphne_ had been the one slagging off Pansy, not her.

"I'm sure you know all about it. The git must have boasted about it to the whole year," Harry grunted, his hands closing into fists, "he's probably rubbing it into Ron and Hermione's faces right now, and those Slytherins …" he trailed off, and his face lit up as if something had just come to him. "Wait, why are _you_ here?"

Zarina grimaced, and tapped her wand against the wall. "Do you want me to heal your nose? It's looking pretty bad from where I'm standing."

" _Can_ you?"

"Let's see, shall we?"

"Er — no, I'd rather not take that chance." He crossed his arms. "You'll Transfigure my nose into jumping crickets, or something."

By _Salazar_ , couldn't he see she was trying to help him? "It's broken," Zarina told him calmly. Leave it to her to be the diplomatic one. "The bridge is twisted. If you don't get that looked at now, it'll be lopsided forever."

He looked unsure. "I …"

Zarina held her wand up. "It won't take too long, and it's nothing complicated. If I do fuck up, you'll get it fixed in no time." She glanced around their compartment. "Once we get back."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Why shouldn't you?"

He blinked. "What?"

"There's no reason to trust me; as there is none to distrust me. The best you can do is let me heal you, and you'll feel better. Or I don't heal it, and you'll be in the same position as now. What can you lose?"

Harry bit his lip, considering her offer. "I suppose," he started, hesitantly, "I suppose it won't hurt. Much."

She nodded enthusiastically and pointed her wand at his nose. "Don't sneeze," she warned him. " _Episkey_!" A sharp crack, like the sound of stepping on a cornflake, followed her incantation. Harry's nose shifted to the right, centring itself on his face again. He sniffed, and removed the tissues. Blood was caked around his nostrils, but the swelling had gone down.

Smug, she lowered her wand. "Now, that wasn't too bad, was it?"

He rolled his eyes, but gingerly touched his nose with something like relief on his face. "Handy spell," said Harry, casually.

"Handy indeed," she echoed.

They looked at each other. Zarina stared at him with something like amazement. As bizarre as it was, being in the same year and sharing some classes, she'd never seen him up close before — not in real life, at least. There were only flashes of his untidy hair and the glint of his glasses, whenever she'd cared to look. Whenever he'd done something outrageous.

This was different. She could make up the exact features of his face: his button nose (which she found adorable, despite the blood), thick eyebrows, and full, red lips. _Very red actually_ , Zarina mused as she stared at his mouth, _like cherries_. He looked far better in person. The Daily Prophet hadn't done him justice.

He coughed. Her eyes snapped up, and took in his slightly embarrassed expression and red cheeks.

Busted. A matching blush spread across her face. She tried to give him an assured smile, but it came out as a grimace.

Harry frowned. "Are you okay?"

"No, not really," she blurted out.

His eyebrows lowered even more, as did his chin, towards her. The concerned look in his eyes grew more intense, and Zarina felt a jolt in her chest. "What's wrong, then? How can I help?"

"I — Er, well I've … hurt … my back. The pain flared up again."

"How?"

"I was stuck in the bathroom," she admitted, too flustered to come up with an excuse. "That's why I'm here. On the train."

"You were stuck," he echoed. He looked incredulous.

That annoyed her. "Not of my own accord!" Did he think she was stupid? "Someone locked me in. They spelled the door. I nearly blew the whole loo to pieces trying to get out."

"How'd you get out, then?"

"A sledgehammer. Magic isn't that fool-proof."

Harry's face hardened. " _Malfoy_ ," he hissed. "He's behind this. Miserable wanker. The gall of him …"

Zarina inched closer to him, her nervousness pushed to the back of her mind. "You really think it was Malfoy?" she asked carefully.

"On second thought, it was definitely the trolley lady — of course it's Malfoy! He Petrified me, and locked you in, and now the train's on the move!"

"Why would he do all of that?"

"Isn't that obvious," Harry laughed bitterly, "he is—" He shut up, pursed his lips, and looked away.

"He is … ?" she pressed.

"Nothing," Harry dismissed.

She gaped at him. "You can't just cut yourself off like that," Zarina said in disbelief.

He cut his eyes at her. "I just did."

"If there's something going on with Malfoy, don't you think _I_ should know? After all, I'm stuck here too, and he's in _my_ House."

His eyes shifted from her face to the green badge on her chest. "Exactly."

She breathed out unevenly. Well, great. He thought she'd grass on him. "You've got nothing to worry about. I hate him too."

Harry looked sceptical. "Oh _really_?"

She laughed uneasily. "Well, surely you've got some people in Gryffindor who you can't stand?"

"Nope."

"You're lying."

"I get along with my Housemates just fine."

"Even after last year? When those _fine_ Housemates of yours turned against you?"

Harry stepped up to her, and Zarina squared her shoulders, even when her feet itched to get away, this instant. She was treading a fine line. And the way Harry was looking at her right now was _dangerous_ (and not the good kind).

"From what I heard," he hissed, "and believe me, I heard _perfectly_ , you Slytherins weren't any better."

"Did you expect any better from us?" She would deny the accusation — she'd never hurled insults at him like others had. But he wouldn't see it that way: standing by was just as bad as being the instigator.

He loomed over her. She watched the shadows from the overhead lights dance across his face as he struggled to answer. "No," said Harry finally, "I never expected better." The words were definite, but he looked as if he only barely believed them. He touched the tip of his nose gently. The nose _she_ had healed.

Did her actions unsettle him that much? "Have I exceeded your expectations?" she asked quietly.

Their gazes locked. Zarina held her breath.

His hair fell into his eyes, breaking their eye contact. "More or less."

"I believe you about Malfoy," Zarina said, after the ensuing silence became a bit too much to bear. "Something's up with him. And you seem … experienced with this stuff," she finished lamely.

"Experienced?" He sounded amused.

"Well, you proved us nasty Slytherins wrong, didn't you?"

Harry looked her up and down, frowning, as if he didn't quite know whether to be offended or thankful. "Yes. Thanks, I guess."

She continued, "You're usually telling the truth. Last year, and back in second year, with the Heir of Slytherin shebang."

"Good observation," he said dryly.

Zarina smiled hesitantly, which Harry didn't return. They stood there awkwardly. Zarina didn't know how to break the ice — her social skills were exceptionally poor — and Harry seemed content to just quietly watch her out of the corner of his eye. He probably thought he was being stealthy, but she felt his eyes burn into the side of her face like a hot poker.

Then, all the windows in the corridor exploded.

* * *

Out of instinct, Harry pushed the Slytherin down with him, and pressed the length of his body against the carpet. Panicky breaths slammed against his neck. "What just happened?" she yelped.

"Shush!"

Shards poked out of the carpet flooring, with some slivers of glass still floating downwards like snowflakes. Harry's heart was beating in tandem with each bounce of the train along the tracks. The train was still moving, so it couldn't have been intercepted, could it?

He felt his thigh. His fingers found the familiar cylinder shape of his wand, and with a sigh of relief, Harry jumped up and brandished his dearest weapon. The Slytherin still laid on the floor; she had an expression of frozen shock on her face.

"Listen, you need to get up. _Now_ ," he said frantically. She blinked, and there was a brief flash of pain in her eyes, before she looked at him squarely and nodded. Harry opened his mouth — whether to comfort her, or to warn her, he didn't quite know — when there was another boom, coming from the next carriage this time. The sound was muffled but the shock was tremendous: the ground beneath Harry's feet shook, and he had to hold onto a doorframe as to not lose his balance.

The Slytherin had pressed herself against the door, her feet wide apart and burrowed into the flooring. "Someone's here," she stated, and swallowed.

Something came to him. "Wait. I don't — what's your name?"

"Zarina."

" _Zarina?_ "

"That's what I said," she snapped.

"Okay, _Zarina_. Go back into one of the loos, and hide yourself."

She stared at him in disbelief. "Are you bonkers? I'm not going to leave you out here alone! What if it's dangerous I— _you_ could get seriously hurt! We need to get some help …"

He gritted his teeth. "I have _experience_ in this, remember," he reminded her, "shouldn't _you_ get help while _I_ find out what's going on?"

"But …"

"Just. Go. You can't …" _You'll only be a distraction._

Zarina tipped her chin up. Even with her lips quivering of fear or pain — Harry suddenly remembered something happened to her back — he couldn't let her stay with him like this — she glared at him with conviction. "I know you have no reason to trust me," she said slowly. "Me being a … Slytherin, and all. But fact is that you're stuck on this goddamn train with me out of all people, and working together is all we can do. If there is really someone out there, you'll need all the help you can get. I can't just sit in the loo and wait to die."

Harry breathed out through his nostrils. He was grateful to her for healing his nose, but number one, he really couldn't trust her, and number two, she might only be a liability.

_Might._ Harry had a slight suspicion, or an overwhelming confidence, that Malfoy had planned something. Malfoy had wanted to get Harry alone on the train, and he'd walked straight into his trap. And for whatever reason, this Slytherin — girl — _Zarina —_ was caught in the crossfire. Out of all possible people, indeed: someone he had never met; someone whose power he did not know; someone he could not predict. Had it even been _Pansy_ …

Ha. No. She'd be in on it, too.

_But why did she heal him?_

"Fine," Harry bit out, "but stay as close as possible."

Zarina nodded.

The pair tiptoed across the flooring, with a firm hold on their wands. Occasionally, he'd hear a muttering from behind him: Zarina would whisper what sounded like a series of commands, such as _pull_ or _push_ or _evade_ , and nod to herself. Harry left her to it. He wouldn't judge someone on how they coped with a stressful situation.

They reached the door to the next carriage. Before he could kick it open, a hand on his shoulder reared him back.

"Let them come to us," Zarina whispered into his shoulder, frantically. Harry looked down at her. She looked back, with desperation in her eyes. "I told you to stay back," he said, grinding his teeth.

"It's not that. We don't know who they are, Potter, but they know who we are. Who _you_ are, at least. _If_ you believe it's Malfoy's doing ... "

"I thought you agreed."

"I do. But you know, it could be _not_ him. Could be a coincidence."

"Let's go on the assumption that he is, okay? Who from Malfoy's family landed in jail this summer?"

She pursed her lips. "His father."

"And _why_ , if you can recall?"

"For Death Eater activities," she said dryly.

"Not just 'activities'. He _is_ one. So, who would Malfoy call if he needed someone to get rid of Voldemort's greatest enemy?"

Her eyes widened at his mention of Voldemort. She opened her mouth, but closed it.

Smugly, he said, "Just what I thought. So, unless you wish to be _killed where you stand_ , let's get on with it and take them out."

He nodded shortly, before opening the door and sliding the curtains open. The next carriage was empty as he had expected, but there was no sign of broken windows or a collapsed roof, which he had also expected.

"Interesting," he mused, as he looked upon the immaculate state of the corridor.

"Trap," Zarina said immediately.

He straightened his shoulders. Every nerve in his body screamed in panic. There was danger near. "For once, I don't disagree."

"Stink bombs?" Zarina suggested, as she peered through compartment windows and slid the doors open, checking each cubicle. She sniffed. "Never mind."

Harry shook his head. His eyes zeroed in on the dent left on the carpet a few feet before him. A _foot-_ shaped dent.

When he looked up, a flash of green zipped past his ears, almost blinding him. Harry threw his weight against the wall. The spell he'd missed left a gaping hole in the door they'd come through.

He crouched and pulled Zarina to the floor with him, and swiftly conjured a _Protego_ when another spell zipped at him. As it hit his shield, it burst into a myriad of yellow sparks.

When the spell dissipated, Harry glimpsed his attacker: a Death Eater, one he'd never seen before. Dressed in the usual garb, the tall, poxy-faced, straw-haired wizard, stared at Harry with a neutral expression, his wand steadily aimed at him.

"Mister Potter," drawled a surprisingly cultured voice, "I see you have company. I admit, we were not expecting that."

His breath caught. _We?_

At his panicked expression, the Death Eater laughed. "Experiencing concern for the girlfriend? Courting a _Slytherin_ , nonetheless … you must be used to the hexes by now. My lady," he bowed. "Whatever is your name?" His mouth stretched to reveal a toothless grin.

Harry shuddered in revulsion as Zarina answered, quietly, "Anjali Sharma."

He blinked in confusion. What was she playing at? Being a pureblood, surely her name would help in this case?

The Death Eater grinned wider, making him look scarily manic. Harry tried not to stare at the gaping cavern that his thin, ashy lips failed to hide. "Sharma? Nice try, girl, but all the Sharmas are light-skinned. In fact, now that I think of it — dark skin and hazel eyes? You must be a Shafiq. Explains why you seek to defame your pure-blood superiors." His wand glowed an eerie red. Harry gripped his own wand tighter. "I have no qualms in ending the both of you. But my Lord wishes you, Mister Potter, to remain alive and whatever my Lord wishes, I will it so. As for you." He turned back to Zarina. "I do not delight in the killing of a Slytherin. However, you being as dirty-blooded as you are, eases my conscience."

And with those words, he struck again. But Harry was prepared. He pushed Zarina away, dodged the hex, and shot off an _Expulso_ at the Death Eater's wand arm, which narrowly missed but scorched the other wizards' sleeve.

But the Death Eater was not to be deterred. He advanced, and cast spells without pausing and without breaking a sweat.

Harry evaded and dodged. " _Diffindo_!" he screamed. At the same time, his opponent's spell flew through the air and hit Harry's. The spells ricocheted off the walls, before Harry's _Diffindo_ cut across his cheek and the Death Eaters' own spell had thrown him backwards several feet.

Harry Petrified the Death Eater. He was about to turn around and assure Zarina of his victory, when he hit the floor. On top of him was Zarina, and Harry glimpsed a silver spell flying over her head.

"There are more," she yelled in his face.

She rolled off of him and Harry was greeted with a door made entirely out of fire.

He looked at Zarina, abashed.

She gave him a sheepish smile. "I bought us more time."

"How many?" he asked.

"Two, so far."

"Have you ever duelled before?"

"Besides in Defense class, not really."

Not surprising. "Follow my lead."

The fiery curtain burnt out and behind the doorway stood, as she said, two Death Eaters. Both of them wore their masks, and they looked identical to each other, down to height and build.

" _Expelliarmus_!"

One of the Death Eaters rose to the challenge, and held their ground: Harry's first five tries of _Expelliarmus_ were effortlessly blocked. Besides him, Zarina battled her own opponent. She shot off various jinxes, but none were powerful enough to subdue her opponent. Her arm shivered as she held up her protective shield against the relentless hexes.

Suddenly, the shield broke in the middle, and a spell hit her in the left arm. She howled. Panic ripped through Harry like a blade. He distracted his own opponent with a stray _Bombarda_ , and quickly cast an _Impedimenta_ towards the Death Eater she'd been fighting, which hit him straight in the face. Turning back to his own Death Eater, Harry cast an Entrail-Expelling Curse, which the Death Eater was unable to block in time.

" _Petrificus Totalus!_ "

The Dark wizard had a look of frozen agony on his face as he crumpled to the floor, still holding his stomach.

Zarina looked shell-shocked, her eyes riveted on the Death Eaters in varying stages of paralysis and unconsciousness, before turning to Harry. "Well thanks," she stated.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his shirt, which once again, had blood splatters on it. "You're welcome."

She was about to say more, when a gasp left her mouth and she pushed him against the wall. Harry's head took a hit for the third time that day.

He forced his eyelids open, trying to recover from the head-splitting pain. "I am not the one you're supposed to attack," Harry whined.

"More Death Eaters," was her reply.

And indeed, three more had joined the fray. One of them had their wands out, the tip still smoking. He noticed a great scorched mark on the wall Zarina had pulled him away from.

Harry and Zarina backed up.

"I've got your back," she told him.

"I've got your front," Harry responded.

They both started on the offensive. Zarina's spells were precise, and Harry's powerful, but they were no match for the Death Eaters.

He'd just missed a Cruciatus by an inch, when Zarina started whispering in his ear, "You can speak to snakes, right?"

"Yes." Green light zapped across his shoulder. Sweat wetted his brow.

In a matter of seconds, Zarina, without an incantation and only a faint hand movement, had Conjured three snakes: long, gargantuan beings with heads as big as Harry's.

Zarina elbowed him in the side. " _Use_ them!"

He didn't need further prompting. " ** _Attack them_** ," he ordered the serpents.

The snakes sprang up from the floor at the Death Eaters, and two of them immediately coiled around one's feet and neck. The Death Eater's wand fell from his grip, and he collapsed. The sound of choking rang in the air.

The third serpent was Banished by the second Death Eater, whose spells turned more aggressive and angrier. But Zarina's confidence had grown: instead of hexing him, she Conjured walls of stone, cement, and brick which obliterated the spells upon contact. One was a wall of wood she lit on fire, and hurled at the Death Eater, who didn't react fast enough, and was swallowed in flames.

She Vanished the floor beneath him. Harry watched, with morbid fascination, as the Death Eater fell through. The churning sounds of the train hitting the body on the track echoed in his mind. The last remaining Death Eater looked on with horror, but quickly composed himself and resumed fighting them.

While Zarina had gained her energy (despite her lame left arm), Harry's was diminishing. Duelling several Death Eaters at once and in succession was sapping his magical reserve tremendously, and his defensive spells only _just_ held against his opponent's strikes. His arm was aching. His head spun. He tried to take a quick breath.

That was all it took.

The hit was sudden yet predictable. Harry's insides cried out in pain, as the hex burned through his stomach. He doubled over. It wasn't a Cruciatus, but it left him breathless and twitching all the same.

His knees hit the ground just as he heard a thud. From his teary-eyed vision, he discovered a pool of inky black hair next to him, streaked with blood. Zarina. She'd fallen. Behind her stood the first Death Eater they had encountered.

Wood creaked dangerously under dragon-hide boots as the other Death Eater stood in front of him, feet wide apart. Harry's wand clattered on the ground.

They were at their mercy.

The last thing he saw was a flash of brilliant light and a melodious caw, before his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and everything went black.


	4. At Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is his heroic, self-sacrificing self. Zarina must set her misgivings aside, to escape their captors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, the chapter title refers to the legend of the demon at the crossroads. I hope that gives an idea as to what happens this chapter ...

Zarina woke up to a cacophony of noise.

"DOGHEAD— _you fool!_ What made you even consider hexing him?"

"S-s-sir, they w-were getting o-out of h-hand—-"

"Out of hand? _Out of hand?"_

_"_ Her—the girl—she killed him! I saw it with my own eyes, sir! We underestimated them. I thought they were going to be defenceless teenagers but …"

"You've doomed me, you imbecile. I cannot take Potter to the Dark Lord, at this rate. _Look at him!_ "

Sluggishly, she opened her eyes slightly, and peeped through the slits—careful not to tip her captors off that she'd awakened. From what she could see, they were no longer on the train, but outside: in an area with large trees and leafy floors. A forest?

Something wet slithered down her neck. She wanted to wipe it away, but her hands were bound together with rope. Glowing—magical—rope. Fuck.

The continuous crunch of leaves breaking halted. "I think Miss Shafiq is awake," the voice which she identified as the angry one, whom the other called 'sir', commented. "Let's get this over with …"

Zarina closed her eyes again, and lolled her head to the side. If she pretended to be still unconscious, perhaps they would leave her alone …

A greasy hand skid across her cheek, and forgetting herself, Zarina immediately backed away, repulsed. The back of her head hit something equally hard.

Harry. They had bound her to him.

She didn't dare breathe. Was he awake?

Subtly, Zarine nudged him with her shoulder. Several beats passed, before she finally felt him push her back weakly.

The hand didn't try to touch her again, but she felt its presence still near her face. The Death Eater it belonged to, let out a thoughtful hum. "She is still responsive," he mused. "But delirious, I suspect."

"How about a _Rennervate_ , sir?"

"Not good enough. The hit gave her some head trauma—as I intended, of course."

If Zarina hadn't been in such a life-threatening situation, she would have rolled her eyes.

"Miss Shafiq, can you hear me?"

She stayed silent.

The slap was so unexpected, Zarina almost bit her tongue off. Blood filled her mouth. The metallic taste made her almost retch, but through sheer will, she kept her face slack, even when her cheek felt like it was on fire.

Her assailant sighed, dramatically, "Doghead, get me the Revitalising Potion. Some dittany, too, for Mr Potter here. We'll fix him up a little—the Dark Lord won't suspect much, and he'll be an easier target. Oh, how he'll reward us ... delivering Potter ahead of schedule ..."

There was a pause in activity, and Zarina could only hear the heavy breathing of her captor, and the slower breaths from her fellow captive. She wondered how badly he was hurt. On the train, after defeating her opponent by throwing a brick at his head (Zarina was surprised that had really worked), she was promptly hit in the back of her skull from behind, and everything had gone black.

How did Harry fare? All the Death Eaters must have ganged up on him. Guilt welled up inside her. If only she'd paid more attention to her environment … she could have helped him … stopped them …

She mentally shook herself. Oh, who was she fooling? She, against a bunch of Death Eaters, _alone_? For _Harry Potter_? The Gryffindor-ness must be contagious.

The leaves started crackling again, signifying Doghead's return. Suddenly, a scream of anger pierced the air: "DOGHEAD, YOU WASTE! WHERE IS THE DITTANY?"

"There wasn't any—sir, I'm so sorry—"

"Absolute scum! Just …" The Death Eater in charge seemed to calm a little, and Zarina peeped her eyes open again, in time to see him bend in the knees and stand. Her eyes followed him towards the smaller, seemingly younger Death Eater, who had a pot of potion in his hand. He pointed at her. "Go. Feed it to her. From what I remember from my Herbology lessons, this part of the Forest is abundant in dittany plants. I don't trust you to recognise them. I'll fetch them myself. Don't spook yourself out too much—they're practically vegetative."

Doghead nodded. "Yes sir, of course. I'll keep an eye on them," he squeaked. The other Death Eater gave him a dismissive wave, before walking off.

Doghead seemed to relax and walked, hesitantly towards Zarina, who closed her eyes again. She swallowed the blood in her mouth, and when he pried her jaw open, prayed he wouldn't notice her wounded tongue.

He didn't. He sloppily poured the potion in, closed her mouth, and started to massage her throat. She instantly felt lighter, in both spirit and body. Energy seeped back into her skin, and her lungs cleared as if someone had rubbed VapoRub on them. Her tongue wasn't as sore, either.

He immediately backed up, and she heard his footsteps become faint. She opened her eyes fully. Doghead stood at the edge of the forest, his back turned to her. The air around him was filled with fumes, as if he was smoking something.

This was her chance. She pushed her shoulders against Harry's. "Pssst— _Harry_."

"Zarina," he croaked.

She almost wanted to cry in relief. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

A pause. Then, "Got hexed. Don't think I can move properly. You?"

"He shot me in the head with something. No worries, the potion healed me."

"Have you been awake for long?"

"No."

"We're in the Forbidden Forest," Harry explained. "Not too far from school. They wanted to drag me off to Voldemort as an early birthday present, apparently, but one of them hexed me really badly, which is not on; Voldemort wants me intact. That's why they're stalling. If only we could rid of this dunderhead ..."

She chanced a look behind her. They were joined together by another glowing rope. It was impossible to get out of the ridiculous binds without magic.

"Any idea where our wands are?" she asked, dreading the answer.

Harry sighed, "If we're lucky, with them. If not, they're still on the train."

_For fuck's sake._ "How do we get out?"

"Can you take a look at him," Harry asked, "and see where he's stashed his wand?"

Zarina looked ahead, zoning in on the lone Death Eater. She could make out the shape of a short stick in his hand, which swung idly by his side. She turned her head to Harry again, and whispered, "In his left hand."

"Your left or mine?"

"Mine."

She felt him nod. "Right. Okay. I'll create a diversion. Once you're free, run. Don't stop, okay?"

Her heart beat against her ribs. "What about you?"

He turned around as much as the rope allowed, and looked at her head-on. "Go to Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, anywhere," he told her, "I'll be fine. I'll keep him occupied."

Zarina wanted to complain. It didn't feel right to leave him alone here: battered and unable to defend himself. But he gave her an insistent look, and Zarina felt that constrictive feeling in her chest again.

Suddenly, his stare grew softer. She wondered why, until she felt something wet under her eyes.

Damn it. "I'm scared," she admitted.

He nodded. "I know. I understand. I am too. But you've got to do this; it's the only option. Be strong."

Zarina shut her eyes, trying to hold her tears back. He was right: there was a time for the waterworks, and this was decidedly not it. She opened her eyes again. "All right, I'm in. What's the plan?"

Harry was gazing her, looking as if he was surprised by something, but shook himself out of it. "Right," he muttered. "I'll try to get his attention, and pass his wand off to you. Get yourself out these binds. Don't bother freeing me."

She swallowed her apprehension. "Deal."

"Brace yourself."

Zarina had only a small window of time to do exactly that, before she felt the force of a battering ram against her back. Shocked, she looked behind her. Harry was shaking violently, and started screaming.

Zarina let her head hang to the side as the Death Eater hurried towards them. From her periphery, she saw him hesitate and bypass her, going round to Harry. The leaves crackled.

There was a sickening crack, a pained groan, and a body hit the ground in a matter of seconds. Harry held a cherry-red wand in his hands, and quickly passed it to Zarina. " _Priori Incantato_ , say it. Quick, I can hear someone coming," he said frantically.

Zarina placed the wand between her knees, and held her bound wrists above the it. " _Priori Incantato!_ " The rope lost its luminescence. " _Diffindo_!" She shook the pieces of rope off her hands and turned to repeat the process with the rope around her and Harry's waists.

Zarina jumped up. She was free.

She turned around. Harry was slumped against the tree, breathing heavily. There was a huge bruise on his forehead. Zarina gripped the foreign wand tighter, ignoring the feeling of wrongness and disgust that flared up — it had seen and done a lot of crimes, she rationalised — and moved to free Harry's wrists. But as she went to grab his hands, a flare of fire singed her fingers.

"AAAAH!" Tears sprang up in her eyes. She flapped her hand desperately.

The Death Eater from earlier stood in the clearing. His mask was off. With shock, she realised it was the Death Eater they had first encountered on the train. In one hand he held sprigs of dittany, and in the other his wand, which was aimed at her.

Zarina crouched on her stomach, missing the hex by a hair, and cast a Leg-Locking Spell at the Death Eater's legs. It would hold for less than a minute, but that was all she needed.

She Conjured a curtain of fire, which spanned across the clearing. Zarina started running. Suddenly, the wand shot out of her hand. But she didn't stop. Remembering what Harry told her, she didn't look back, and disappeared into the woods.

* * *

Teary-eyed, Zarina could hardly make out her surroundings. She was running as fast as she could, entered through any opening in the woods she could find, and refused to stop and look back. If she didn't look back, if she didn't see them, she could outrun them (had she been in more favourable circumstances, Zarina would doubt this logic).

But Zarina was no sprinter, nor did she have a Quidditch-conditioned body that could handle the fitness, and soon enough, her side started aching. The magical VapoRub on her lungs had long since worn off, and her lungs dug into her chest as she tried to breathe in more oxygen.

It was futile. Her legs folded, out of sheer exhaustion, and Zarina collapsed into the moss, knee-first. Groaning, she sat up, and felt hopeless. She had no wand, hers or anyone else's. She had no source of light besides the stars above, no direction, and no fucking idea where she was in the Forbidden Forest. She should have just stayed with Harry and waited for something to happen.

How was he? What were they doing to him?

She needed to get help. She couldn't abandon him, not when he helped her escape — _facilitated_ her escape, in fact. She had to go back. Zarina swallowed, hard. The thought of returning there with those _Death Eaters_ , who wouldn't hesitate to snap her like a twig, filled her with terror.

But …

Surely, the school knew, by now? Zarina would bet that Dumbledore was flying over on his phoenix right now for a _Mission Impossible_ -esque rescue mission. Harry would be fine. They would find him.

She straightened up. Every forest had an end, eventually. She'll just have to kick herself in the rear and start walking.

The air was chilly, and Zarina crossed her arms over her middle, trying to preserve her body heat. Her cloak was in a right state: the front had been ripped open, the collar scorched, and one sleeve was in complete tatters. She entertained the idea of just chucking the bloody thing off, but any cover was good cover; the dress she'd worn underneath was short-sleeved.

Harry had worn a thin white oxford shirt. Zarina recalled that it was frayed at the ends and torn at the shoulder. He must be freezing right now.

She shook her head. "Not my problem," she muttered to herself. The forest floor was a bit soppy, but Zarina trudged through, glad she had worn her sturdy boots. The trees seemed to loom over her and the wind howled, unforgiving. Zarina shivered. From the biting cold, but also from something else.

Fear. Guilt.

Gods, why did she care so much about Harry fucking Potter? He was basically a stranger. He didn't need her: he had the most powerful wizard in Britain — possibly the world — in his corner, and an entire army of people willing to fight for him. They would come. Someone would come, and save him, and take him back to Hogwarts.

_Why then_ , began a taunting voice in her mind, _are you walking in the opposite direction?_

Zarina stopped in her tracks.

She was lying to herself.

If anyone was coming, they would have come ages ago. They would have saved them both. Hell, the whole train fiasco wouldn't have happened, if anyone had cared to check.

"I can't leave him," she breathed. Her hands shook. "I can't! He's going to die — I can't let him die."

Zarina held her head in despair. "What do I do?" she cried to the sky.

The wind started to blow harder. Zarina backed away, surprised. She spat out tendrils of hair that slapped against her face, and gripped a nearby tree.

Suddenly, Zarina was drenched, as if someone had thrown a building-sized bucket of water over her. The sky had opened up to rainfall. But this was different to your usual autumn shower: the rain was comparable to the monsoon rains in India, torrential and warm. There was no chill creeping into her skin. In fact, Zarina could have closed her eyes and pretended that she was taking a hot shower.

From somewhere in the woods, a glowing light came into view. A path lit up, one she swore hadn't been there before, and a row of cobblestones appeared. Zarina watched, entranced, as a being came into existence with the lower body of a sable-pelted horse, and the torso and face of a human. Zarina stopped breathing. The light was sparse, and the darkness pervasive, but she was certain that she was looking at a damn centaur.

_Centauress_ , she corrected, as it approached her. The creature had long hair which resembled blue fairy floss, and a feminine face that could belong to any (human) girl.

The centauress smiled at Zarina, tentatively. "Girl," it said, with a voice similar to a hummingbird, "what is your name?"

Zarina gaped. "Uh … Zarina."

"Zarina, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I've been expecting you, for a while."

"Really." Zarina wasn't that convinced.

It laughed. " _Really._ But I suppose that's a story for another time. I am Hylonome." She bowed her head slightly, before fixing her with an indulgent smile. "What do you seek, Zarina?"

Zarina hesitated. She had enough reason to be wary of this Hylonome. Centaurs hated humans with a passion, and she had no idea whether this rang true for their female counterparts. Just her luck, as well, as she _had_ done a question on centauresses just a little over three months ago, in her Care of Magical Creatures OWL. But she couldn't remember squat.

"What I seek is not here," said Zarina, finally. "And I doubt you can help me."

Hylonome's viridian eyes glittered. "You would be surprised. I am different from my brothers. You may ask of me three things, and I will grant it to you."

Zarina frowned. "Why? Why would you? And how did you even know I was 'seeking' something?"

"This part of the Forest is my sanctuary," Hylonome explained, "and I hear every heart's cry."

"So, you _can_ help me," Zarina stated. The 'every heart's cry' comment puzzled her a little, but she didn't ask. She didn't want to look _too_ out of her depth.

"Request of me three things, and I will adjust them to my needs, _and_ ensure that you receive the best outcome."

"What do you want in return?" she asked, suspiciously.

The centauress gave her an enigmatic smile. "In return, I want a favour from you."

"A favour?"

"Nothing more."

Zarina eyed the horse-human hybrid. The way she phrased it sounded like she was trying to play off this favour as something little, but Zarina had read Rumpelstiltskin once, and was a changed witch ever since. "Well, what _is_ this favour?" she pressed.

"I assure you, love, that this is no grand favour. I am no trickster. I do not wish to harm you. A fortnight from now, I will request it of you. However, at the moment, I only offer my assistance."

She thought it over. The centauress sounded sincere, if a bit simpering.

Well, she didn't really have much of a choice ...

"I want the means to rescue my friend. He's captured by Death Eaters, and they will take him to You-Know-Who. He'll die. Can you, maybe, defeat them?"

Hylonome looked at her sadly. "I apologise," she said, "but it is not in my nature to commit violence."

"Can you distract them, at least?" Zarina urged. "Long enough that we can get away and they won't be able to follow us?"

"That is within my capability, yes."

"Good. We need to get back to Hogwarts, too. Could you take us there as fast as possible?"

"No, I cannot trespass the centaurs' territory. However," she turned around, rustling some leaves, and produced a lantern from the bushes, "take this. It's a Forager: it will illuminate the fastest path to your desired destination."

Zarina took the Forager. It was made of dark metal, and the candle burnt brightly, but she couldn't find anything that made it particularly unique from ordinary lanterns. She put it on the ground, by her feet.

"Anything else?" Hylonome asked.

"My friend was hexed. I don't know which hex they used, but it's lethal. I need to cure him."

Hylonome nodded, and out of nowhere, a round pot appeared in her hand. Zarina accepted it and took the lid off. It contained an orange salve. "What's this?"

"Darkroot essence mixed with sunblossom honey," she explained. "It eliminates the effects of the hex, and keeps it at bay. Rub it into the site of the wound, and your friend will be fine until you get him adequate treatment."

She nodded. "All right. Thank you. So, what about this favour?"

"For this transaction, I must require something of you to make it binding."

Zarina's shoulders drooped. "I have nothing to give," she said sheepishly.

Hylonome smiled, and her quick eyes ran across Zarina's face. She murmured, "Wrong again, child; you have something and you have a lot of it." She jerked her chin towards Zarina's head. "Only a lock should suffice."

"Of what? My hair?" Her hands instinctively went to her dark tresses. "What do you want me to do—rip it off?"

Hylonome took out a ivory hair comb, previously hidden between her woolly tufts of hair. "You can cut with this. It will come straight off." Zarina took it, hesitantly. The ivory comb had a dull edge and looked too precious to be used as a cutting tool. But despite her misgivings, she listened.

Surprisingly, it did come off clean. Zarina stared at the long strand of hair. This was it. Was she going to enter a deal with the possible devil for Harry Potter? "Before I give you this," said Zarina, "I want your assurance that you will do what I asked of you."

Hylonome cocked an eyebrow. "Do you have any suggestions as to how I give you this?"

Zarina stared at the centauress. Her eyes snagged on her neck. A red stone hung from a golden chain and rested against her collarbone. It looked important. "How about your necklace?"

Hylonome's eyes widened. "Pardon?"

"You could give that to me. I will return it to you two weeks from now. A fortnight," Zarina hastily added. "If you have good intentions, you don't have to worry. Right?"

For a second, Zarina was scared that the centauress would curse her, or predict her an early death, or something. She had taken a huge gamble, and from what she read in her books and heard around Firenze, centaurs didn't take disrespect lightly.

But Hylonome only smiled. It wasn't cold, but it wasn't warm either. "Very well. I trust you to return it to me." She unclasped the chain and held it out to Zarina. "Keep it in your pocket. It will not fall out."

Zarina took the necklace, and stuffed it in her cloak. She passed her hair to Hylonome, who placed it on her palm and closed her fist. She relaxed her hand again—it was empty.

_Don't think about it, don't think about it._

Hylonome looked down at her, amused. "Well, shall we go? Take the Forager, and climb on my back. It is imperative we reach your friend as soon as possible."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarina is a Slytherin through and through—demanding her necklace like that! I suppose she has a point. Is Hylonome trustworthy? Or has Zarina doomed herself? 
> 
> What did you think of Zarina's inner turmoil? I expect she doesn't know what to think of it either.
> 
> Please let me know in the comments!


	5. Knight In Shining Armour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's freaking out, the school's confused, and Harry is fucked—until he isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I'm trying get as many chapters in as possible; by September, I'll be too busy with school to write regularly, so that's why I've updated so fast. Here's a taste of Draco's POV, and what's gone down at Hogwarts while Harry and Zarina are AWOL. This is where the Hogwarts Express hijinks end, and from now on it will be dealing with the fall-out. Enjoy!

Professor Snape stormed through the doors.

Amongst the students, frantic whispering commenced, which only grew more puzzled as a group of Slytherins and Gryffindors rolled in behind him, headed by none other than Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Anyone in close view noticed that a significant presence, otherwise always at their side, was missing.

But Professor Snape paid the onlookers no mind; a man on a mission, he bypassed all the House Tables, determined to reach the Head Table. Professor McGonagall was the first to stand up, her drawn face stern and disconcerted, followed by Professor Flitwick, who squeaked as Severus marched up the stairs, straight to Dumbledore. The rest of the teachers volleyed their attention between their colleague and their Headmaster, and the group of students, who had stopped by the stairs leading to the Head Table.

Draco felt their accusing eyes stab his skull like bees. After he had confronted Greengrass, Draco had been of the mind to jump on the nearest carriage and leave the mess he'd (inadvertently) created behind. But Pansy had refused to withdraw from the drama, and in an all-too-familiar show of camaraderie, Blaise stood by her, which left Draco no choice. Nervous, he had played the part of concerned Housemate a bit too well. Finally, the Gryffindors had marched over and there was tense conversation between Davis, the diplomat, and Weasley (the Mudblood had tried to command some attention, as usual; but Davis refused to engage her, which had angered Weasley and heartened him—Davis, for her close associations with disgraced Shafiq and lax Greengrass, still had some class). After some verbal sparring—because getting to the point was the last thing Gryffindors do—they all had agreed to go to the teachers. Severus was the first they encountered, and at the mention of Shafiq, he had made a beeline for the Great Hall, giving a short wave over to them to indicate that they follow.

And here they were: showcased like a piece in an art gallery, for the whole school to see. He hid behind Warrington, who, for what he surely lacked in other areas, made up for it with his formidable height; yet, eyes honed in on him like a moths to a flame.

Fidgeting, he chanced a glance to the Head Table. What in Merlin's name was taking Severus so long? As he'd suspected, the Headmaster was still in deep discussion with his godfather. Some Headmaster, he was! Surely, with his darling Potter in danger, the old man could risk his joints? He had never hesitated before …

But then again, there was a Slytherin involved this time.

The mere thought made him sweat. He had checked. He had made sure. To his knowledge, Draco had been the last Slytherin on the train, if not the last person. Where had Shafiq come from? If anything happened to her …

He stared at Warrington's back, which was tensed. His fists were clenched at his sides. It wasn't hard to surmise the Chaser's feelings at the moment.

Draco wasn't scared of Warrington. He didn't have reason to. But he wasn't an idiot, and knew that he had to tread carefully. His father's imprisonment had ostensibly given the Warringtons an opening to crawl to the top of society to their heart's content: in fact, the goings on at the Warrington Estate had been featured every other day in the _Babbling Butterfly_. A bitter, dried up part of himself resented the fact that there were more articles about Astor Warrington's society parties than Lucius' incarceration—almost more than his father's situation itself. He wasn't ready to be a has-been. Not yet.

Draco mentally shook his head at himself. _Calm_ , Draco. His recent … marking had inspired fear in his fellow Slytherins; and where there was fear, respect—no matter how grudging—would follow.

That was what his father had told him …

Draco was shook from his thoughts by Blaise, who had tapped his shoulder. He lifted his chin to look up at him properly. "Yes, Blaise?"

"Dumbledore," said Blaise, his mouth in a scowl, spitting the name as if it was puce, "is on the move."

On the move, indeed. In fact, he hadn't bothered to inform the students what in the world was happening, and marched out the Hall as if he was on the warpath, with Severus at his heels like a loyal cadet. Hundreds of confused eyes followed their retreating backs. Draco didn't blame them—he was a little confused himself.

Without prompt, McGonagall took the stage. She looked as if she'd swallowed an entire lemon sprinkled with salt. "The Hogwarts Express has left ahead of its schedule," she said. "We suspect it has been hijacked." Gasps reverberated across the Hall. Around him, Davis let out a whine and Greengrass started muttering under her breath.

Draco kept his face carefully blank, but inside, leeches of panic ate away at him. Had they captured Potter? At least that part of the plan would remain intact. But the loss of Shafiq— a Slytherin—Warrington's girlfriend—would undoubtedly cost him.

McGonagall, seemingly heedless about the students' consternation, continued, "Two students are stuck on the train for unknown reasons, and the Headmaster will recover them to his utmost ability. I implore that all of you stay calm, and keep close to your Prefects; they will escort you to your Common Rooms, where you are required to stay until this matter is resolved.

"Furthermore, I will keep these pupils," she gestured towards Draco and the other students, collectively waiting by the Head Table, "for questioning. You are not to harass them when they return to their respective Houses. We have never had such an occurrence, and I request that you all remain patient, as we try to handle it in the best way we can. Good evening, all."

With that dismissal, everyone stood up, and like dominoes, formed perfect lines. All the Prefects in each House (bar him, Pansy, Warrington, Weasley and Granger) led their denizens away, and soon, the Hall was bled of its occupants. The Professors lingered in their seats, looking a bit puzzled, while McGonagall strode down the steps.

She adjusted the glasses perched on her nose, and greeted the remaining students with a stern look. "I will speak with all of you," she informed them. "Individually. I expect nothing but the truth, and the absolute truth." McGonagall glanced at them all, but Draco could've sworn her gaze lingered on his a second longer. "Your Housemates are in great danger, and any information is vital. Do you understand?"

No one hesitated to nod.

"Good. Follow me to my office, please."

* * *

Harry spat out the blood.

"Beating me up won't bring her back," he heaved.

The Death Eater—Theodore Nott Senior, he had found out after listening to Doghead's cries of mercy—scowled at him, all traces of civility gone. He kicked Harry in the stomach again, missing the hex-wound by inches, but still hitting several organs. Tears sprang in Harry's eyes from the pain. "How clever of you, Potter. Well done. But where does it leave you?"

"I wouldn't say I'm particularly clever," said Harry, gasping, "your lackey is just particularly stupid."

Nott looked over to Doghead, who sat crumpled against a tree. Harry had broken his nose, and Nott had fixed it only to break it again. "No need to worry over him, Potter. He'll get his due."

Harry sneered, "Oh, dropped the honorific, have you?"

Nott tightened his fists. Harry tipped his chin up, and looked the Death Eater in the eye. Though he doubted he would intimidate the Death Eater much with his black eye, it was the principle of the thing.

But Nott seemed to heed Harry's words, and stepped back. His mask was off, and the twisted features of the wizard—the thin lips, toothless mouth, and beady blue eyes—looked even more harrowing in the light from his Lumos. Even with the scowl marring Nott's face, Harry could see the fear lurking in his eyes. From what he'd gathered, Nott had few options left: bringing near-death Harry to Voldemort would only enrage him (anything enraged Voldemort these days—Harry's scar could attest to that) and leaving him in the clearing for Dumbledore to find would paint another target across Nott's back.

Which was understandable. Little Nott was still in school and having an active Death Eater as a father, who'd kidnapped the Boy-Who-Lived, does not an easy school life make.

A smarter man would just Obliviate him, and carry on his merry way. But _fuck_ if Harry was going to make things easier for him.

"Don't be too smug," Nott said, "your little girlfriend will never find her way out of here."

Harry didn't bother to correct him. "I wouldn't be too quick. You did say I was clever, after all."

"There's a limit, somewhere."

"Evidently," said Harry. He deliberately eyed Nott up and down. "You're a shining example." Although, he doubted Nott had any intelligence in the first place.

But Nott's words had reintroduced his own concerns with his plan. Had he doomed Zarina? From what he'd seen on the train, Zarina could hold her own—with a wand. Doghead just _had_ to wake up that very moment, and _Accio_ his wand back before she could scram. Harry had nearly head-butted the tree in frustration. They were a good mile outside of Hogwarts' wards, and Harry had ventured even farther before. But he would bet all his Galleons in Gringotts that she had not. Simply put, he had set Zarina up to fail.

Not that he had any other choice. They couldn't kill him, but Zarina wasn't off-limits. Nott had said so himself. It was either escaping into the wilderness or being killed on the spot.

Which begged the question: why hadn't they? In-between their defeat and dumping them in the Forest's backwoods, Nott could've just whipped out his wand and offed Zarina. But it seemed that they needed something out of her, first.

Out of nowhere, Harry heard a strange noise. He cocked his head. He would say it distinctly reminded him of a bird, yet he had never heard a such a high-pitched cawing before. For reasons unknown to him, Harry found the bird's call reassuring. Uplifting.

The Death Eaters disagreed. At once, both of them pressed their hands against their ears, and screamed in agony. Harry looked on, flabbergasted: Nott collapsed on his knees while pulling at his hair; Doghead twitched uncontrollably on the grass, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

There was an intense light that bathed the clearing. His surroundings seemed to glow, the trees casting bluish shadows, and from deep within the woods, what looked like an eagle Patronus appeared. It was huge, and majestic, and bestowed a strange calmness on Harry. It didn't venture any closer, and didn't have to: the Death Eaters were out of commission at the moment.

But before Harry could consider crawling to safety, someone came running at him from behind the ethereal apparition. Incredulous, Harry watched Zarina as she swung an arm around his shoulder, and started to pull him up. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" he shouted in her ear.

She cringed back, but held onto him. "Rescuing you."

"But that—that—you shouldn't," Harry sputtered. "I told you to leave!"

"I couldn't," was all she said.

He shook his head. Well, at least she was still alive. "Is that your Patronus?"

"Patronus?" She looked at him with surprise. "What are you—oh! _That_. I'll explain later," she said hurriedly, "let's just go before they regain consciousness."

"Wait, wait! Let's get our wands. I can't get these things off of me, otherwise."

"Right! How stupid of me ... _Accio_ Zarina's and Harry's wands!"

From out of Nott's robes, two wands flew across the air, into Zarina's waiting hand. She passed him his. As Harry's fingers touched the familiar holly, he felt a surge of relief. "Thank Merlin."

Zarina lifted the magic off of the ropes tied around his wrists and feet, and started rummaging in her cloak. Out of her pocket, she produced an old-fashioned lantern. Harry considered the meaning of this. "What are you going to do with that?" he asked.

"It'll show us the way to Hogwarts," said Zarina. She looked bone-tired. "Again, I'll explain later. Let's just get the hell out of here before I piss her off."

_Her?_

Harry tried to walk alongside Zarina, but with every step, there was a stab of pain in his abdomen, and he faltered. Wordlessly, Zarina placed an arm around his middle, and quietly told him that he could lean on her.

"Thanks," he mumbled in her hair.

She didn't reply.

Zarina flicked a button on the lantern, and the flame from the candle roared alive. At once, Harry could understand what made the lantern unique. It acted like a torch, but with a glaring difference: whereas a torch pointed straight ahead, the lantern's glow seemed to curve to the left, as if directing them where to go.

They followed the light, and briskly walked through the forest. Or hopped, in Harry's case. Zarina painstakingly dragged him along, unwilling to stop for even a moment. "We need to get away from that place as far as possible," she said, by way of explanation. "A little more."

The thickets and bushes were thinning, and Harry's calves started to ache, when Zarina finally paused near a couple of rocks. They were at a meadow, surrounded by tall stalks of cedar. She delicately lowered them on the forest floor, and made Harry lean against a smooth chunk of stone. He was happy to do so. "Ah, that's better," he sighed, folding his arm against his stomach.

"How's the wound?" she inquired, and sat on her knees in front of him.

Harry shrugged. "Meh."

"What do you mean— _meh_? You look horrible, Potter!"

"Back to the surnames, now, are we?" he piped up.

She narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"Back in the clearing," explained Harry, "before you left, you called me 'Harry'."

Something he couldn't identify flitted across her face. Zarina looked away, but he spotted a frown. Clearing her throat, she said, "A mistake, Potter. It won't happen again."

He stared at her, or, well, at whatever he could see of her. She had a nice, defined jawline, and her blush meshed well with her skin, which was the same colour as the bark of the trees around them. Harry realised, with a twinge of embarrassment, that Zarina was quite pretty. Her black hair, stuck on her cheek, complimented her well …

Wait.

"Why are you wet?"

She looked at him, and grimaced. "I had a run-in with a centaur. Which reminds me …" She fished out an umber pot from her pocket. "I've got to apply this to your wound. It'll heal it, somewhat. Do you mind pulling up your shi—"

"Wait! Hold up. You talked to a _centaur_? And _that's_ why you're wet?" asked Harry, incredulously. "I'm missing something here."

"Let me apply this first, and I'll tell you."

He gave her a look.

"I promise," she insisted. "Just, please, I need to put this on."

He sighed, and rolled his shirt up to his chest. Zarina gasped. He followed her eyes down to his stomach, and took in a sharp breath. The area around his navel was black and festering. It certainly looked as painful as it felt. "Damn."

Zarina swallowed, audibly. "Don't worry," she tried to assure him, but her voice quivered, "it-it will heal. Let me just apply it, okay?"

"You don't have to do this. I can apply it myself—"

"No," she cut in. "I'll do it. I'm training to be a Healer, anyway; I'll be seeing a hell lot of worse." She let out an empty chuckle. "Hopefully in an actual ward."

He shifted against the rock. "A Healer, then. Any reason as to why?"

"I like helping people. Obviously."

"Standard," he agreed. "No other reasons?"

Zarina shook her head, laughing, and unscrewed the pot. She cast a quick Scourgify on her hands, and took out a glob of orange paste. "Why? Because I'm a Slytherin, and so must have an ulterior motive?" she teased.

"Crossed my mind," he admitted.

"Hmmm." They lapsed into silence. Zarina carefully applied the ointment on his wound. Harry watched her. She seemed to be embarrassed, only touching him lightly, and wouldn't meet his eyes.

He didn't want to embarrass her further by pointing it out, but he did worry that the paste wouldn't work as effectively. Hesitantly, Harry suggested, "Maybe you should—er—press harder."

She blinked up at him. "Oh. Right—I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's fine! Thank you, by the way. For this. For coming back."

"I almost didn't," she said bitterly, rubbing in the paste.

Harry felt the pain lift. Satisfied, he slumped a little, and considered what Zarina said. "You did, in the end. That's what matters."

Their eyes met. Zarina's fingers wandered slightly above the wound, over his unmarred skin, and Harry shivered at her soft touch.

"Does it feel better?" Zarina asked. Her eyes looked dark in the lowlight from the lantern, but Harry could make out an inviting sparkle in them.

He nodded, not trusting himself to say anything.

The moment passed: she went back to tending to his injury, and after several applications, Scourgified her hands again and the miracle worker ointment disappeared back into her cloak. Harry didn't use this term lightly; before, the hex had been leeching off his energy and made movement difficult, but now his stomach felt only slightly sore.

"Where did you even get that from?" asked Harry in wonder. "That thing works like, well, _magic_."

Zarina snorted. "More than usual magic?"

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

She looked at her feet. "You'll think I'm an idiot."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Try me."

"I might, or might not, have sold my soul to a certain creature to obtain it …"

"The centaur?"

Zarina moved over to sit next to him, while keeping some distance. "What do you know of female centaurs?"

He chewed his lip, thoughtful. Female centaurs … Harry tried to remember anything from his Care of Magical Creatures' lessons that might've stood out. It did nudge something in his brain, but damn him if he could recall. "Nothing."

"Neither," said Zarina. "I mean, I'm fairly certain we did a question on it on our OWLs last year, but I can't for the life of me remember it. Fair enough, I didn't do too well …"

"Wait, you're a sixth-year?" asked Harry, surprised.

She looked at him. "What did you think I was," asked Zarina, chuckling, "a fourth year?

Harry's cheeks coloured. He had thought along those lines: Zarina was pretty short, and he assumed she was at least a year younger than him. "No, just slightly younger. I haven't really seen you in any of my classes."

"Oh." Did she sound dissappointed? "Well, I'll have you know that I am, in fact, older than you. I'm the oldest in the year." She puffed her chest out.

He raised his eyebrows at her. Harry doubted that: he was _absolutely_ certain Hermione was. "When's your birthday?"

At this, she seemed to deflate a little. "October 31st," she murmured.

Harry couldn't keep the frown off his face.

"Anyway," she quickly changed the subject, "so, apparently, female centaurs—centauresses—are a bit like djinni."

"Djinni?"

"You know that Muggle film—Aladdin? The Disney one? Came out a few years ago …"

"Probably missed it," said Harry, sheepishly. The Dursleys didn't let him watch the news, let alone a cartoon. It would just make his childhood a tad nicer, which they of course could not allow.

She waved it off. "Right. So in the film, there's this djinn who lives in a lamp and the main character rubs it and gets three wishes. It's like that: I could request three things of her, but instead of getting them free, I had to promise her a 'favour'." Her face turned sour. "Conniving little—ugh. I asked for that pot of salve that could contain any hex, the Forager—the lantern—to show us the way back and that she create a distraction so I could get you out of there. She took a bit of hair in return, which I guess she'll use in a voodoo doll and torture me when I don't meet her for her fucking favour."

Harry gaped at her. "What even—what is this bloody favour anyway? And I thought centaurs hated humans? They cast out Firenze for treating us decently."

Zarina threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "That's what I thought! She gave me some bull about _'not being like her brothers'_ , but come on! A leopard doesn't change its spots." She smiled grimly. "A centaur, in this case."

"What favour did she ask?" Harry asked sharply. He was getting a bad feeling over all this.

"I don't _know,_ okay? I tried getting it out of her, but she wouldn't budge, and you were there alone—I just _had_ to agree!"

"You have no idea what you just walked into …"

"What would you have me do," asked Zarina, tiredly, "leave you there to die, and wander aimlessly through the Forest until _actual_ centaurs stomped on me?"

Harry understood where she was coming from—he'd've done it himself, to be honest—but the problems seemed to just pile up. He insisted, "You can't trust her."

"I don't." She twiddled her thumbs. "She knows I don't. I wanted her to keep her word—so I took this." She rummaged in her cloak again, drew out a necklace, and held it up to the lantern. It had an oval-shaped, red stone pendant and a yellow-gold chain.

Harry grasped the pendant. It was so _shiny,_ as Zarina had just buffed and waxed it before giving it to him.

"Any idea what it is? I can't recognise it."

"Ruby?" Harry suggested.

"I don't think so—ruby's transparent. I'll have to look into it at Hogwarts … But I'm sure it has some properties, or else she wouldn't have been wearing it. She trusts me to return it to her, in two weeks time."

"Will you be meeting her then?"

"I have to. She has my hair—she has a part of me. With that, she could do anything to me."

"How do you know she won't do anything now?"

Zarina held up the necklace. "She'll want this soon. Only I can give it to her: she can't enter centaurs' territory—Hogwarts' territory. I'm banking on that," she finished.

"I'll ask Hermione," Harry promised. "About female centaurs. Maybe they have good intentions."

Zarina huffed, "I wouldn't count on that. But do as you wish." She stood up, brushed off her knees, and picked up her lantern. "We best be on our way, now."

Harry nodded. "Let's contact Dumbledore. I'll send a Patronus …"

She gaped at him. "A _Patronus_? You can do that? Was that why you were asking me before?"

Harry hesitated. "Yes," he said, "I can do one."

"What form?" asked Zarina eagerly.

"Er—a stag."

She looked at him with wide eyes. " _Merlin_ —you're not having me on, are you? No, of course, you're not. Why would you joke about that? But _wow_ , that's just … incredible."

"It's fine, really," he cut in, embarassed. "You just need some practice."

Zarina laughed. "Practice? Some wizards don't even get to do a Patronus in their lifetime. You must be talented." Her laugh softened to an almost fond smile. "But then again, I've seen that already."

Usually, Harry didn't know how to react to praise, but Zarina's appreciation made him warm. "Thanks, but I'm not all that special."

"Right," she said.

"Wait, I'll try to send it to him—"

Suddenly, a thoughtful look overtook Zarina's cheery expression. "But, Potter, are you sure you can cast a Patronus?"

He looked at her, puzzled. "I'm sure. Why?"

"Well, I thought Dark wizards couldn't cast Patronuses? I mean—I know you're not a Dark wizard, but you do have some Dark magic in you, with that hex. What if it backfires?"

"You really think so?"

"You can never be too sure," she warned.

He shrugged. "Well, you've got that lantern—and we've our wands—so I suppose we're all set."

"Cool." She bit her lip. "I—er—I might sound a bit forward …"

"Hmm?"

"Do you mind showing it to me—your Patronus, I mean. Sometime? Not right now, of course … when you get better …"

Harry chuckled. "No problem. Let's go. No," he said, waving off Zarina's hand, "I can walk by myself."

Zarina's hand faltered, and hung by her side. She looked as if she was suppressing the urge to rebuke Harry. "Right," she said finally, but the look in her eyes told him just as much. "I'll walk right behind you—hey, don't look at me like that! Just in case you decide to fall over. I'll hold you."

Harry snorted. The idea of him falling into Zarina's arms like a swooning damsel painted a funny picture in his mind. He started walking (in a straight line this time—that salve really worked wonders) and drawled, "Oh, my knight in shining armour, how you make my heart flutter!"

Her lips curled into a shy smile. "I try," said Zarina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco's involvement in this fiasco is great, but where did Theodore Nott Senior come from? Suspicious. At least Harry and Zarina escaped. Of course, everything has its price, but it has resulted into a sort of friendship between the two. Will it hold when they're in Hogwarts?
> 
> Next chapter will deal with the consequences on this event on all the characters, particularly Draco, whom Harry will not hesitate to (rightfully) crucify. However, as we all know, Dumbledore has a plan in place from the beginning ... Will this event change anything?


	6. Saida Shafiq, Auror Extraordinaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two people, who were never supposed to meet, connect, and tensions broil between friends and family. Saida Shafiq comes in to save the day. Sort of.

"When did you see Miss Shafiq last?"

Draco pursed his lips. "On the Express. We were in the same compartment, for a while."

McGonagall quirked an eyebrow. "A while?"

_Nosy bat._  "Yes," he gritted out, "Pansy and I left to find Blaise, and decided to stay with him."

"Who was in the compartment?"

"Me, Pansy, Gree—Daphne, Tracey and Zarina."

She steepled her fingers together, and leaned forward. Her cat-like eyes became slits. He could almost feel her distrust fan him in the face. "Was her behaviour uncharacteristic? Did she act off?"

Draco considered that. From what he'd seen, Shafiq's script hadn't deviated from the stuttering, nervous nutter he knew her as. "I don't believe so, Professor, but it's better if you ask her friends: they know her better and can give you a better answer."

McGonagall looked like she was going to argue, probably just for the sake of an argument, but thought better of it. "How about Mr Potter? Did your paths cross?" Her silent  _as usual_ echoed in the space between them.

Draco grimaced. Hell to Godric, what was he supposed to say? If he told the truth they would suspect him, and Draco didn't want to put himself anymore on the spot than he already was with his father's dire circumstances— not to mention there was an Auror stationed right outside McGonagall's office, and he doubted he would enjoy their interrogation anymore than McGonagall's. But if he lied, and Potter did survive (as he was wont to do), he would only have a small window of time before Dumbledore carted him off to Azkaban; interrogation or no interrogation. Potter's word against his was hardly a competition.

"Yes," said Draco.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes so much they threatened to fold back into her sockets. "Continue, Mr Malfoy."

"I—ah—we …"

He was saved, however, by the loud slamming of a door. The Auror who'd been guarding the entrance to McGonagall's office stood in the doorway. "Professor," she panted, "two people have just been spotted in the Forbidden Forest! Hagrid believes it's Harry and Zarina …"

McGonagall straightened up from her seat like a spring. "Where, Tonks?"

"Northwest from the Lake, Professor. Hagrid's gone to get them."

"I shall join him, then."

"I'll come with."

McGonagall gave the Auror a stern look. "Tonks, I implore you to stay with Mr Malfoy here. I will continue this conversation once I have surveyed the situation. Please."

Draco glanced shiftily at the lanky Auror, who looked defeated, and murmured an almost whiny "sure". Draco would have been insulted, but was rather of the same sentiment. Why couldn't they get him a less shabby-looking guard?

McGonagall spared him an equally strict glance, as if telling him to behave, before she shut the door behind her. The brunette Auror (at least that was what he thought—Merlin knew what her hair was like under that strange hat) gave him a grimace, before settling down in the seat next to him. She took off the knit hat to reveal a light chestnut bob, proving Draco right, and looked at him with tired, black eyes that were slightly familiar. In fact, now that he thought about it, Draco found something recognisable in her entire face: the cutting cheekbones, the slant of her eyes, the stub-nose …

He narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"

His tone had been less-than-polite, but shockingly, this seemed to be just  _the_  thing to cheer up the dreary Auror. She smirked. "Auror Tonks." She held out her hand.

Draco glanced at her outstretched hand, and back at her face. Her eyes now had a mischievous twinkle. He contemplated ignoring her hand, and then gloating in Tonks' embarrassment, but honestly, who knew how long he was going to be left in here? He might as well talk to another human being. "Draco Malfoy," he introduced himself, and shook her hand finally. "Don't you have a first name?"

She made a face. "I'm fine with Tonks, thank you very much."

"Fine, Tonks then. Do we know each other? I think I've seen you before."

"I doubt you've ever interacted with the likes of me." She let out a short laugh. "Your mother would have had a conniption if you had. Don't want to be corrupted by the bad apples in the family …"

Ah. "You're a Black, then?" Probably another relative of that Sirius.

"Hmm, as much as you are, I suppose. We're cousins."

He opened his mouth, but shut it quickly at Tonk's amused expression.  _Another_  cousin? Hadn't he dealt with that in fourth year?  _These disgraced relatives keep popping up._ Draco wracked his brain in search of any disowned members of his other family. "Mother's sister? Andrea?"

" _Andromeda,_ Merlin!" She shook her head. "I'm her daughter. My mother's got quite the resemblance with your lovely aunt Bellatrix." She scowled. "As do I, unfortunately."

Aunt Bellatrix! That was who she'd been reminding him of. Well, now that he knew who she was, Tonks' resemblance to his demented aunt diminished by the second. He also wasn't sure if he wanted to keep talking to his weirdo cousin.  _Tonks_ , really? Sounded like a disease. "All right."

She gave him a pitying look. "It's okay to be worried, you know," she said. "She's your fellow Slytherin and your—"

"Who said I was worried?" he barked. Had there even been an ounce of distress on his face?  _I think not._  "I'm just  _slightly_  ticked off that I'm stuck in this stinking office with you, out of all people. I have work to do."

Tonks frowned at him. "You can do it here."

" _What?"_ He glowered at her. Shouldn't Aurors have at least a nugget of common sense? Who was screening them, these days? "I don't have my stationery, my books, my parchment—nothing! How am I supposed to get anything done?"

"Well, aren't there any spells you could practice? Anything you're struggling with? Perhaps I can help. I  _am_  an Auror, you know."

He fidgeted in his seat. "Why would you want to help me?"

Tonks gave him a tired smile. "You're not the only one who's stuck here."

"You can leave anytime—you're an Auror. I don't see why you're taking commands from _McGonagall_. You're not her student."  _Unlike me._

"This is her turf; she knows what's best, and I trust her." Suddenly, she smirked at him. It looked out of place on her otherwise delicate features. "Don't worry, Draco, I won't be leaving anytime soon. You'll be seeing a lot more of me."

Draco rolled his eyes, but inside, his heart pounded furiously. That was a threat if he'd ever heard one. "Whatever. Are you any good at Vanishing? I need to perfect my technique."  _Or rather invent one_ , he thought groggily to himself. Transfiguration wasn't his forte; he barely scraped an E on his OWLs, and that was only because he had buried himself in his Transfiguration studies for the whole of that Easter.

Tonks grinned—any trace of malice on her face vanished—and pushed her chair closer to him. "Transfig, huh? You've come to  _just_ the right person."

* * *

"Oh,  _Harry_! My boy, what in the devil's name made you even think of taking all of those Death Eaters on your own?"

Harry sputtered, "Mrs Weasley, I didn't actually—"

"Don't talk too much," she chided him, "Madame Pomfrey said you must rest. No point in exerting your energy …"

"Too right, Molly," added Madame Pomfrey, hurrying over to his bed with a jar of potion clutched in her arm. Harry's eyes widened at the vat of purple goo that surely must be a litre.

"Is that for me?" asked Harry cautiously.

"Of course, Potter! Do you want to stay sick forever? We might start thinking of reserving you a bed here, then."

He rolled his eyes. "That won't be necessary, thanks."

"Well, then, 'atta boy! Bottoms up!"

He eyed the concoction with very poorly-veiled disgust. "Could you just measure it out in a cup, or something?"

"C'mon, Harry," grinned Ron. "One swig should do it."

"Piss off," muttered Harry, but he accepted the jar, unscrewing the lid. The smell that wafted up from it was ungodly; a mix between rotten eggs and Seamus' dirty socks.

Ron whistled. "Merlin's beard. Or balls, actually." He sniggered.

Molly swatted him on the arm. "Ronald! How dare you use such filthy language? You should be ashamed of yourself." Ron looked properly chastised, and blushed red to the roots of his hair, his face and carrot-top hair clashing furiously. Harry smirked.

"Want some potion, Ron? This ought to help that curious rash on your face," Harry offered. He held up the jar, and shook it playfully.

Ron glared at him. But under the careful watch of his mother, he didn't dare say anything.

Harry gave him a smile, which quickly vanished as he was face to face with the devil's concoction. Swallowing once, twice, and then once more to be sure, Harry poured the potion down his throat, gagging all the while. Just as he'd thought: not only did it smell like Seamus' footwear, it also tasted _exactly_  like it. Harry lamented the fact that he actually knew what Seamus' socks tasted like (it had been an accident—allegedly—when Seamus whipped out his socks and it had hit Harry in the face. In his mouth).

Hermione patted Harry on the shoulder as he cleared his throat to rid it of the pervasive taste. "You'll be fine, Harry," she chirped. "It'll do wonders for that nasty wound."

"You'll even get a pretty scar with it," quipped Ron.

"As if I haven't got enough of those." Harry threw himself back on his pillows, scowling at the rounded ceiling. Ron and Hermione sat on either sides of him, casting him equally sympathetic glances.

Harry looked to his side. On another bed laid Zarina. Her arm was bandaged, there were scratches and cuts across her face from the low-hanging branches they'd walked through and the brambles she'd tripped into while they were in the Forest, and additional pillows against her back to provide support. Snape stood at her side, and they were both engaged in quiet discussion—too quiet for him to hear, at least. On her other side sat two Slytherin girls whom he recognised as Daphne Greengrass, exceptionally tall and with frizzy hair just teensy bit tidier than Hermione's; and Tracey Davis, a black girl with a pretty smile and cat-eyes. At the foot of her bed, to Harry's chagrin, was Cassius Warrington. Harry hadn't forgotten the Chaser who'd consistently scored against Ron at his first match, pulling his best mate into near-depression for weeks. And judging from his glare, neither had Ron.

"Zarina seems a decent sort," said Ron. "What's she doing with knuckleheads like Warrington?  _Look_ at him; a Weasley pretender of the worst kind."

Harry silently agreed—except for the last part. Warrington  _was_ redheaded, but his hair was more of a deep, wine-red than the fiery ginger the Weasleys were known for. He was a bragger, only one step down from Malfoy, and Harry couldn't quite see the hesitant, nervous Zarina hanging around with the likes of him.

"He's probably one of their boyfriends." He nodded at the tall Slytherin girls.

"I think he's with Gainsby, actually; she's the other seventh year Slytherin Prefect. They're awfully chummy in Prefect meetings."

"Or perhaps he's just their friend," stressed Hermione. "Like I am to you. Honestly, you two look for subtext in things which has none."

"You read me like a book, Hermione," said Ron dryly.

Hermione eyed him. "Must be a very thin book, with lots of illustrations."

And to Harry's confusion, they smiled at each other. At this point, Ron would've given a nasty retort which would've served as the proverbial flame to Hermione's proverbial gunpowder. They probably toned it down for him; he hated it when they squabbled.

"Where is Dumbledore?" asked Harry, interrupting the staring contest between his friends. "I haven't seen him around." Being rolled into the Hospital Wing, and not seeing his mentor, had disappointed him greatly. After something like that, he'd expected Dumbledore to greet him with a kind smile and a thorough explanation on what had occurred.

"I believe they're still looking for the Death Eaters who kidnapped you," said Hermione. "McGonagall sent a Patronus a while ago, before Hagrid brought you here."

Harry snorted. He remembered the image of the two wizards sprawled across the grass like stringless marionettes. "Shouldn't be too hard. I doubt they'll be able to run far."

"I can't believe you faced off Death Eaters. Again! It's been barely three months, Harry."

"Keep up, Ron."

"Ron's got a point," Hermione added. "Why did they do it? Why would they be careless enough to attack you on the Hogwarts Express? A bit stupid, if you ask me."

"Not so stupid, after all," said Harry testily. "It  _worked_ , didn't it? Malfoy thought of everything."

Hermione looked at him sceptically. "Harry, not this again. He was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time! In fact, he was with us for the entire thing. He went to Snape with us. Would he do that if he was planning to kill you?"

"Listen to yourself!" hissed Harry. "He  _did_  nearly get us killed, Hermione! They were going to send me off to Voldemort."

Ron tapped his chin in thought. "But how are you going to prove it?"

"I propose we roll up his sleeve and see what's underneath .. Once Dumbledore gets back ..."

Hermione crossed her arms. "What if he doesn't have it? You'll only look foolish."

"I have proof!  _He Petrified me!_ "

"That's not enough—"

"Fine, I have memories. I'll show them my memories."

"Memories can be tampered with," said Hermione. "You can't honestly be thinking that Malfoy, being sixteen, could pull off a stunt like this?"

"Oh, give it a rest, Hermione!" said Ron, rolling his eyes. "If he can wish you dead when he was twelve, he can easily throw Harry to the starved Kneazles. And Zarina, too, for that matter. There's no House loyalty with that lot."

She huffed, "Accusing someone of being a  _Death Eater_  is not a small matter! What if you're wrong, Harry?"

"I won't be," said Harry, gaining confidence. "I've got him right where I want him."

"Who?" came an impatient voice. Molly, who'd gone off to speak to Madame Pomfrey, had returned. She stood in front of them with her hands on her hips. "What are you plotting?"

Ron smiled sheepishly. "Harry was just wondering where Dumbledore was."

Her face lit up. "Ah! Harry, don't you worry! He'll be here soon. Arthur has been meaning to ask you some questions Harry."

"That I was," Arthur said, appearing next to his wife, "in fact—I've got a volley of questions for you, Harry. If you don't mind?"

Harry smiled indulgently, but inside, he wondered why Arthur was so eager to take his statement already. Even McGonagall, who had taken Molly's place as Pomfrey's conversational partner, seemed unwilling to move a muscle until Dumbledore appeared. "Sure, Mr Weasley. But shouldn't we wait until Professor Dumbledore is here …?"

"No worries, Harry! Dumbledore has entrusted me with this. This is a very messy situation, and it will be a while before you can be alone with him, and by that time, the Aurors will have descended on you. In fact, I know of one particular Auror who's racing down here." Arthur's mouth twisted in a grimace. "And from what I've seen of Saida Shafiq, she is not one to cross."

"Saida Shafiq?" Harry remembered Nott referring to Zarina as Shafiq, back on the train. It couldn't be ...

"Yes. Zarina is her daughter."

Harry blinked. Zarina's mother—an  _Auror_? He found the idea strange: to be an Auror, one had to be noble and courageous, and Harry couldn't imagine any Slytherin in that mantle.

Arthur smiled at him. "All right, Harry? Now, please start from the beginning."

He obliged, and repeated what he had told Ron and Hermione. He set out the manner of events in excruciating detail, taking extra pains to emphasise his tussle with Malfoy in the train corridor. On the subject of his tow-headed rival, Arthur's face darkened. It filled Harry with a hope that someone was finally going to take him seriously.

Molly put a hand to her mouth as Harry delved deeper into their kidnapping. She glanced over towards Zarina, looking as if she could run across the room and take the Slytherin in her arms.

Harry decided not to mention the centaur episode, as he didn't know the story Zarina was telling Snape. What if he got her into trouble? For all he knew, trading with such magical creatures could be illegal. Instead he described, with enough puzzled awe, the strange apparition which had saved them both.

He finished with, "We saw Hagrid in the distance, and got his attention. But the hex got really bad, and then everything went black before I woke up here, with you all."

Arthur blinked, and cleared his throat. "Well, that's quite the … er …" He looked pained. "I'm so sorry, Harry; I can't imagine the pain you've been through."

"It's fine, Mr Weasley. No one could've known."

"But we should have! Nympha—that is, Tonks, was supposed to be guarding the Express! But Professor Snape found her Stunned in the bushes by Hogsmeade station. This could have all been avoided. If we'd only been more careful …"

"I cannot agree more," boomed an authoritarian voice.

A hush fell in the ward. Even the rapid whisperings between Snape and Zarina quietened. Harry looked at Zarina. Her face was ashen.

A woman who looked to be in her early forties, wearing armour-like robes and large leather boots which thudded noisily across the floor, swiftly walked towards them. "Arthur," she clipped.

Arthur straightened up from the bed, and greeted the woman with a polite nod. With his impressive height and her tiny stature, the pair made a comical picture. "Good evening, Saida. It is nice to see you again."

Saida tipped her chin up. "If only I could say the same."

"I understand, and I apologise, Saida, for the present circumstances …"

"I appreciate the sentiment, but the person I would like to hear that from is decidedly not you.  _Where is the Headmaster_?"

Molly piped up, "Catching those criminals. He'll be here shortly, Saida."

Saida's head snapped towards her. Her dark eyes dragged over Molly, from head to toe. "Oh. It's you," she drawled, not all too friendly, before turning back to Arthur. "And  _why_  is the Headmaster doing that? Should that not be left to us—the  _Aurors_?"

Molly sniffed. "Well, perhaps you should put some more faith in the Headmaster. Have you not learned?"

"Molly," insisted Arthur.

Saida's eyes narrowed to slits. "Excuse me if I hesitate to put my faith in someone who compromised my daughter's life! She has never stepped foot into the Hospital Wing until now." Suddenly, she looked over at Harry. Her nostrils flared in anger. "I knew it," she hissed. "You! You had something to do with it."

Harry narrowed his eyes. " _What_?"

"Zarina is hurt because of you, you little punk—"

"Mum!" cried Zarina. "Please, stop. If you only let me explain …"

"What's there to explain? Potter here wanted to play hero, just like he did back in June, and he roped you into it—!"

Harry shot up from his bed, red-hot anger coursing through his veins. He felt a slight tugging at his sleeve, heard a whispered "Harry, stop" which sounded awfully like Hermione, but his mind filled up with dreadful images of Sirius laughing, hit by the curse, falling, and falling, and never to be seen again …

"Where  _were_  you, anyway?" shouted Harry. "If you really wanted to do your job, then how come we had to scramble to do it ourselves? Huh? Zarina sure as hell didn't mention her  _Auror_  mother coming in to save the day!"

"How dare you," she balked. "How  _dare_  you—insolent little—"

"Saida," interrupted a satiny voice. "Abort this melodrama. At once."

"Severus," hissed Saida, turning around to face the Potions Professor, who looked at her blankly. "Stay out of this."

"I think not. As much as it pains you, Miss Shafiq is  _my_ student, after all, and I have a certain responsibility over her. Your spat with Mr Potter," he cast Harry a dark look, "no matter how entertaining, is contributing absolutely nothing to this current situation. Potter has no part in this. He is as much of a victim as your daughter."

Had Harry not been pissed off at Saida, he would've tipped his mental hat off to Snape for taking his side for once (he'd thought that the codger would oppose him whenever possible), but as it was, he was sick of people pointing fingers at him all the time. And this woman seemed to have been doing that since the start—since the smear campaign against him and Dumbledore.

Snape shot him another warning glance—probably sensing that Harry had more to say—and turned back to Saida. He gave her a dismissive wave. "The Headmaster would be pleased to hear your complaints, and discuss them with you. How about you wait for his return?"

Saida crossed her arms. "I think  _not_. I'll be investigating this situation a little more closely.

"Those criminals," she spat, "will be delivered straight to me.  _If_  Dumbledore finds them first, of course."

The air grew cold. Snape's back seemed to snap straighter than previously thought possible. "Pardon?"

She smiled smugly. "Unlike what that little snot thinks," she shot a withering glance at Harry, "I am doing my job. The moment you notified me about this situation, I immediately dispatched my team in search of these rogue Death Eaters. You see, Severus—no matter how long it takes, I will catch these bastards. Lucius was only my latest find. Actually, now that I think of it," she trailed off, and pretended to think. "How about young Malfoy? Where is your godson?"

"In my office," snapped McGonagall, suddenly. Harry almost kicked Ron in the thigh in surprise. She continued, "Along with  _your_  goddaughter."

"Very well," Saida said coldly. "Lead the way, Professor. I will take Potter. Zarina, come along—if you are well enough?" She looked pointedly at Zarina.

Zarina shrugged helplessly. "Yes, mum."

"It is hardly necessary to involve Mr Malfoy in this," argued Snape. "Minerva has conducted the appropriate line of questioning. The boy is harmless."

"I believe that can only be decided under Auror's jurisdiction."

Snape sneered. "Certainly not  _your_  jurisdiction. Shacklebolt isn't here, Shafiq. To my knowledge, you have no such commands."

Saida cocked a curious eyebrow. "To your knowledge? How would you, a Hogwarts teacher, have any knowledge as to what my commands are? Ah, I thought so. Here, to ease your worries: I lead the criminal investigation against Death Eater activity, and have been appointed by the Minister himself as having final authority on these matters. On  _this_  matter."

Snape black eyes gleamed with contempt, but it was obvious to everyone in the room that he had backed himself into a corner, and so he did not argue.

Saida whirled around to look at Harry. "Quick, Potter. We wouldn't want to keep Mr Malfoy waiting."

Harry swallowed. A terrible feeling was broiling in his gut. Saida Shafiq had the distinct attitude of a Minister puppet, and while Harry felt a smidgen of vindication that he could finally get Malfoy where he wanted—if anything, Saida seemed to share his disdain for the slippery ferret—he wondered at what price that would be.

* * *

"Mum," Zarina said frantically. "Mum, please—you've got to listen to me!"

"Not now, Zarina," dismissed Saida. "Wait until we're there."

"Potter—he's innocent—he saved me …"

Saida cut her eyes at her. "Are you in his thrall, too?" Zarina pursed her lips. "I thought so. I've taught you better than that. Anyone from Dumbledore's camp cannot be trusted."

"We were wrong," whispered Zarina. "They were telling the truth, weren't they? Potter wasn't lying. Dumbledore wasn't lying."

Zarina risked a glance at Harry, who was walking a few paces behind them and stared resolutely at the floor. Swallowing, she continued, "You have to hear him out. Please." Something came to her. "He knows more about Malfoy."

Saida stopped in her tracks. Zarina almost collided against her back. Slowly, Saida turned around to stare at Harry. "Is that true?" She narrowed her eyes. "How is he involved?"

Harry glared at her fiercely. "I will tell you everything I know. But you'll need to trust me."

"I swear, Potter—if this is some game you and Dumbledore are playing …"

"Malfoy's a Death Eater," interrupted Harry. "I'm sure of it."

Saida blinked at him. "You're sure of it," she echoed.

Zarina chewed on her lip. Her mother's eyes were twinkling, and her mouth threatened to quirk in a smile. Dread filled her. She could almost imagine a pitchfork in her mother's hand. "Well, Potter, such an accusation cannot be taken lightly. I was going to take you into custody, but now … well … you've certainly given me some food for thought.

"Why don't you accompany me to Mr Malfoy?"

And this was how Zarina found herself staring at the mahogany door to McGonagall's intimate premises. Harry stood next to her, his eyes guarded and a tic in his jaw. She felt an urge to inquire about his well-being, but remembering her mother's presence, kept quiet. She didn't want Saida to think that Harry had her in his thrall, after all.

Professor McGonagall, who'd been a silent throughout the journey, rapped on the door. Thirty seconds passed before the door was lugged aside, revealing the haggard form of Nymphadora—or Tonks, as she liked to be called—her god sister and an Auror in Saida's unit.

Tonks blinked. "Professor, you're back!" She spotted Saida. "Aunty …"

"That's Auror Shafiq for you," said Saida. Her eyes softened. "We're still at work, Auror Tonks."

"Oh—yes, of course! I've just been guarding Mr Malfoy …"

"I'm aware. How has he been?"

"Er, fine. Amiable, I suppose?"

An ironic smiled tugged at Saida's mouth. "I'm sure. I'll have to speak with him. These two," she gestured towards Zarina and Harry, who awkwardly waved at Tonks, "are with me. Will this be a problem?"

Tonks brightened up. "No, of course not. Hi, Harry!"

"Hi, Tonks," said Harry.

She smiled brilliantly at him, before turning to Zarina. "And how are  _you_ , baby snake?" cooed Tonks.

Zarina rolled her eyes. Tonks had been calling her that nickname ever since she was Sorted into Slytherin, dashing the collective dream of her mother, Ted, and Tonks that she be in Hufflepuff. "Fine, Tonks."

From the corner of her eye, she spied the puzzled expression on Harry's face, as he looked from Tonks to her. In all honesty, she shared his confusion. Since when did Harry and Tonks know each other?

Tonks stepped to the side, allowing them to enter. Zarina looked around the office. From the few times she'd been in here, it never changed: there were the large circular windows, overlooking the Quidditch Pitch; the sturdy, yet mite-bitten desk in the corner; and the roaring hearth, bathing the room in an cozy, orange light, which seemed completely inappropriate in regards to the current situation. A tall figure, obscured by the shadows from the fire, cowered by one of the chairs.

Saida smiled. "Mr Draco Malfoy? Do you remember me?"

Zarina tried to meet Harry's eye, but he was as riveted on Draco as her mother was.

A brittle voice rang out, "Yes."

"Perfect. It's time we had a little talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, several reveals in this chapter: Draco and Tonks are cousins (which we knew, but Draco didn't); Draco has another disgraced cousin besides Tonks; Saida is in charge of the Death Eater witch hunt (for a lack of a better word); and Saida is Tonks' godmother. Crikey! 
> 
> While Saida is quite authoritative and suspicious, she is only trying to do her job and protect Zarina, and with the added stresses of catching the Death Eaters AND finding her husband, I can imagine she's just a little high-strung. Especially when there's a whole secret society she's excluded from who are conducting their own missions, ahem, Order of the Phoenix, ahem.
> 
> Draco's actions have finally come to bite him, it seems. Harry is being pulled into two directions: to wait for Dumbledore, and his approval, or to out Draco as a Death Eater in front of Auror Shafiq, no matter what the consequences?
> 
> Draco's got huge family issues, I can tell you that. It's something he shares with Zarina. In fact, later on in the fic, a particular relative will make an appearance, which will put our characters in a tailspin. Purebloods are messy, folks, and they will get even messier in this story.
> 
> I really wanted this chapter to close the whole Hogwarts Express drama, but then it got way too long and this seemed to be a good note to end on. Needless to say, next chapter will finish the questionings, mudslinging, suspicions and segue into the 2nd of September, where our characters finally go to lessons! Many things will change from canon, many, MANY things. So if you're here to read a rehash of 6th year canon only with an OC replacing Ginny, you're at the wrong place.


End file.
